


Hunger for Truth

by SoulfulyWicked



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe- Cato Wins, F/M, Past Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-01-05 10:02:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 35,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18363788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulfulyWicked/pseuds/SoulfulyWicked
Summary: Altheia is a liar. That's what everyone thinks. District Two has been staring at her with suspicion ever since future tribute Phaedra died. Now, it's time for her punishment. Her name is called at the Reaping and she realized that now, more than ever, she will have to rely on herself. She's been marked for death and she will have to do everything in her power to beat those who wish to see her fail. Surprisingly, from the the crowd rises an ally in the most of unlikely places.Cato Hadley sometimes wishes he hadn't won. A thought he keeps to himself, as he tries to play his role. Then a girl is called and he comes to realize what exactly drove his enemies in District Twelve. Sometimes, he wishes he hadn't won. And now, he wishes she will win.





	1. Reaping Day

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story that came from the idea of Cato winning and I quickly wrote a piece about that, called In which Cato Wins; Except he doesn't. While not needed in order to understand this story it would certainly shed light on the Cato I'm trying to portray. 
> 
> Finally, thank you for reading.

She is getting a suspicious amount of sleep, considering she went to bed near 3 am. Waking up, she realizes that her roommate has drawn her curtains on purpose. Rising when the sun rises is a lot harder if the window that lets the light in is blocked. The bed across from hers, is also empty and there is no shower running. Her roommate never wakes up early.

She checks her watch first, trying to get rid of the sluggishness she’s feeling when the numbers finally unblur it takes a moment to register.

“I’m late!”

She’s shouting now, curses and various forms of torture leave her lips as she rushes through getting ready. She considers her wild hair and chooses to leave it alone. There is no time to wrestle it into a state of compliance and she still needs to brush her teeth and find her outfit which is no longer on the hook she had put it on last night.

Her roommate may be a weak little bitch, but she’s smart, and slow to enact revenge. And she chose today, of all days.

Reaping Day.

Which means she has exactly ten minutes left to sign in before the Peacekeepers come find her and accuse her of trying to evade the law. There is no way she’s gonna be labeled a traitor and have her cut tongue out all because the little miss she roomed with was too stubborn to fight it out like a normal person.

Aggravated, she settled on a pair of riding pants and a simple black tank top, which looking closer, she realized, had blood stains on it. Still, there was no time, so she yanked that on along with a pair of boots and was out the door in two minutes.

She ran, the entire way to the courtyard, through the eerily empty streets.She thanks whoever designed the Training Center for choosing a plot of land so close to the courtyard and she manages to make it just as the woman at her table has made it known that she’s yet to arrive.

The Peacekeeper fixes her with a stare and she smiles sheepishly. “I’m sorry, my roommate played a prank on me….”

The excuse goes unacknowledged and her finger is stabbed pointedly as she’s checked in. Then, she’s personally escorted to her section. Glares are fixed on her from the moment she’s noticed and while she wants to duck away instead she holds her head high. Being unliked is nothing new, but recently, things have changed. The entire District knows of her, even if they aren’t sure its her. She’s infamous. Unfortunately.

She settles into her section and glances at her watch. Two minutes to spare. She smirks and looks up, meeting the eyes of her roommate. Agrippina sighs and turns away, looking disappointed and mildly inconvenienced by the turn of events and not all like she could have sent her roommate to prison.

She frowns and turns to the stage watching the escort walk up, with mild interest. Their escort is new, Theophania she is called, rumor has it the last one needed a vacation after their latest victor Cato Hadley.

She looks across the rows of past Victors, easily spotting Brutus and Enobaria.

“This Years Mentors; Enobaria and Cato!”

Everyone claps, and a few murmurs of surprise rise up. Brutus has long since been known as one of the only reasons Enobaria hasn’t done something completely insane to the tributes and yet, this year he’s passing the reins off to Cato. Cato, who seems like he’d literally rather be anywhere else than on stage.

She’s never spoken to him, not once. She continues to study him as the reel plays, repeating the same information we all know by heart. The girl next to her mouths along, eyes glowing with something that bothers her.

A movement to her right draws her attention and she’s staring at a girl in the Eighteen section. She’s staring, intense, and once she notices she’s been caught a slow grin fills her face. She recognizes her, as part of the most “Career” like of the academy. She’s second in command. Or at least she was, but now she’s first. All because of...that.

Disturbed she watches as the eighteen year old mouths something. She cant figure out what it is before the escort is up again, teetering on heels that make her ridiculously tall.

“Now, ladies first!”

She goes over to the bowl and swishes her hand around dramatically.

Her name is only in there the required amount, like everyone else’s but she doubts it matters. This year is a volunteer year, for sure. It always is, in the wake of a Victor. Two is desperate to prove it was not a fluke, after Cato was nearly bested by the tributes from Twelve.

“Your District Two female tribute is...Altheia Clay!”

She freezes, hands frozen, stopped in their tracks. She was going to clap.

She waits, waits for that girl to volunteer but she mouths the words again and suddenly they become clear to her.

_**You’re dead.** _

Startled, the girls around her jump into motion and they seperate around her. The cameras are quick to notice and she schools her features quickly before the big screen shows her.

She wonders what she looks like, standing there impassively. Part of her still thinks someone will volunteer but all the girls around her stand with grim features, their eyes aglow with their revenge. She starts walking forward in the stark silence of everyone. No one claps or cheers. She sees the escort look spooked, everyone knows that District Two cheers the loudest for its’ tributes.

She tries to emulate the things she learned in her training but she isn’t sure she quite makes the mark. She steps up the stairs, hearing them creak loudly. She has never heard them do that before. No one has.

“Hello, Miss Altheia.” The escort has no eyebrows.

She nods at her simply and turn to face the crowd. They all stare at her, and now she understands her roommate. She had tried to make her late, maybe as a mercy. Because it seems even dead, Phaedra has found a way to enact her punishment.

Theophania reaches into the boy’s bowl and pulls out a paper. She says a name but all she can hear is her heart thumping in her ears. Then the cheers start and the escort jumps and it’s so obvious who District Two believes in, who they place their support behind. She glares into the crowd, anger filling her because she knows who’s marching towards her.

Phaedra’s twin brother smirks at her when she offers her hand for the customary shake. He ignores it, publicly snubbing her. Theophania, unsure of how to continue after that pauses before quickly announcing them once again. She places a hand on either of their shoulders and leads them away.

Theseus, who thankfully, only shared the same last name as well as a womb with Phaedra, snears at her as she is escorted into a room to await visitors.

Altheia waits, alone, until a Peacekeeper comes to take her away.

The Capitol awaits.

Welcome to the 75th Hunger Games, she thinks, miserably.


	2. In Which Lunch is Absolutely Boring and Musicals Are Not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title so long it could be a Fall Out Boy song. Enjoy.

Altheia considers stabbing herself with the knife in front of her, but then the door to the dining cart opens. She stands, thinking its Theseus come to break the rules and kill her but it’s just Cato.

She laughs, almost, just Cato. As if that was any way to greet her mentor. Enobaria comes next, her hand around Theseus and it’s apparent she is on it as well. In on whatever massive prank her entire district thought up.

Cato heads straight for the alcohol and she wrinkles her nose as he chugs it straight from the bottle.

“Now, I’m sure you’re familiar with the utensils so I don't have to explain it to you like I had to for poor District Eleven last year--” Theophania continues to talk, and while her voice is nice Altheia is only able to focus on the fact that, very obviously, Enobaria chooses to sit at an angle where she doesn’t have to look at her.

Desperate she turns to Cato, hoping that at least one mentor will acknowledge her but he’s too busy pouring himself a drink, finally into a cup at the insistence of the escort.

“So, tributes. How are you feeling?”

Her attention is drawn towards Theseus who’s eyes have been on her since his arrival. He’s smirking and part of her wonders if he’s thinking about using the same knife to kill her.

“I feel great. Excited.” Theseus picks up the knife, twirling it before stabbing it pointedly into the meat before him.

Altheia’s stomach turns as she watches him slice it. She knows that if her plate remains empty it will reveal her nerves so she chooses some fruits she doesn’t recognize and remains quiet as she chews on her food slowly. She tries to conjure the image of the girl she is at the Academy. Aloof, uninterested, un-bothered.

“I missed breakfast.” She chooses to say, to excuse herself from speaking and piles on what looks like honey on toast.

Enobaria is eating her steak and blood runs down her chin. A flash of sharp teeth makes Altheia reconsider whether not having her attention is really a punishment.

“Skills. Now.”

Cato’s rough voice draw her out of her thoughts and she turns to face him as he saunters over and throws himself into the chair next to her. He speaks to both of them but his eyes are on her. Blue iciness which makes her feel like a window has been opened. Goosebumps rise along her skin and she quickly returns her gaze back to her toast. Theseus speaks first.

“I’m good with a sword, two handed. I excel at the club as well as the flail, my favorite.” He bares his teeth and she sees him now, pulling the spiked balls back to crush her skull in. Her odds would be so much better if this year the Cornucopia had no weapons. “Tracking I’m also good at.”

Now, that is a stretch. He can track as long as the idiot that’s running doesn’t know how to do anything but trample through mud and leave clues everywhere. He got a passing grade, that’s all. His sister was much better at tracking, which is why Altheia got so good at hiding.

Enobaria grins, congratulating him while Cato nods, reaching forward and spearing a fish on his fork.

“And you?”

She nearly flinches as everyone’s eyes settle on her.

“Tracking. Evasion. Hand to hand combat….” She trails off and sees Theseus’ eyes narrow. “Twin Blades.”

He growls and stands, knife pointed at her and everyone freezes. Theophania who had been in the middle of pouring herself a drink jumps and water lands all over the table.

“You are nothing compared to my sister.”

She narrows her eyes and tilts her head up, ignoring the knife under her chin. She rises, slowly, and the knife follows. The intensity in his stare is enough to make her want to leave because suddenly, he looks exactly like his sister.

“If I was nothing, she would be here.”

His eyes change and she can see the decision before the movement follows. He rushes forward but the knife clatters to the floor and a tight grip on his wrist makes him grunt.

“There will be none of that until the Arena. Remember the rules.” Cato hisses, the threat evident as he moves until it's clear he could snap Theseus’ wrist.

Enobaria rolls her eyes and Altheia wonders if she sees the insane glint in her favorite’s eyes.

Finally, Cato lets go and she can see how Theseus is still thinking about hurting her. She doesn't sit down until he does after he receives a sharp command from Cato. She studies the way her district partner clearly struggles to rein in his anger, how the fork bends in his grasp and the shaking that envelopes his entire form. She goes to sit down but Cato drags her chair over until it’s right against his. He doesn’t say anything, just spears another fish and after a moment she picks up her abandoned plate. Her toast is soggy now.

Theseus is still shaking.

 

* * *

 

 

Lunch goes by without more disruption and Theseus stalks off and stays away as soon as it’s over. She is shown to her room and she stares at it all, wondering if they thought setting it up exactly like an Academy dorm would be comforting. It looks exactly like what the Seniors, the eighteen year olds, get their last year, after all the failures have dropped out. With her stomach sinking, she notes that had the bed not been placed in the middle and had the sheets been red instead of black that it would look exactly like the room in her nightmares.

She ignores it and instead steps into the bathroom, relief at the strangeness of it all and showers under the freezing spray. It is when the water finally starts to warm up that she realizes that she's a tribute in the 75th Hunger Games. In other words, a Quarter Quell.

She frowns. Where was the twist?

The twenty-fifth’s tributes were chosen by their districts and in the fiftieth twice as many went in. Her district reaping went on as usual, as far as she was concerned. Unless another voting took place without her knowing but that seemed unlikely as the Capitol was loath to repeat the same thing twice. Beyond that, she hadn't exactly paid attention during her own reaping so who was to say whether the twist had already been announced and she just wasn't aware?

After a minute of fumbling with the shower she finally shut it off. She smelled exactly like oranges, her favorite. Walking out of the bathroom she considered re-dressing in her old clothes but there was the matter of the blood still staining it. Wrinkling her nose she turned to the closet and pulled out something that looked like it might fit her. It was black and simple but it fitted her and was, at least, clean.

She slowly inched the door open, thinking that it would be just her luck for her district partner to be lying in wait just outside her door. Seeing no one she rushes back the dining cart and only exhales once she's there. It’s empty, mercifully. She wasn’t sure she could handle Enobaria or Cato which is somehow, worse. He makes her feel unbalanced, in a way she’s sure she has never felt before.

Picking up the remote she turns on the television. It’s not that different from the one in their common room back home so she figures it out very quick. Altheia is looking for the News channel or maybe even a re-run of a possible Presidential announcement. She was sure that the last Quarter Quells had some sort of reveal before the actual reaping. Instead, she lands on a weird re-enactment of the last Hunger Games. It’s a musical, she realizes, with a snort. It’s just getting to the finale, where Cato, out of character, is confessing to Katniss his undying love.

She’s so engrossed in it that when a hand appears and snatches the remote from her she jumps.

“Why are you watching this bullshit?”

Cato fixes her with a glare as he tosses back his glass. Her eyes zero in on the liquid and he catches her when she stares for too long.

“It’s water.”

 

She blinks.

 

“I’m only allowed one drink.” He raises the glass sarcastically, a sour smile on his lips.

  
She thinks back to the entire bottle he chugged and the words slip out before she can stop them.“You had more than one glass earlier.”

He looks at her before a slow grin takes over his face. “Touche.”

Altheia considers disappearing but then she thinks about how she has absolutely no clue about what the stupid twist is supposed to be. She opens her mouth before closing it. She tries two more times to try and come up with words to explain her predicament.

“Just spit it out already.” Cato isn’t staring at her, instead focused on a documentary he finally settled on about swords, but maybe he was paying more attention to her than she thought after all.

“I...this is the Quarter Quell...I...I don't know the twist.” She finally spits out, biting her lip nervously.

“What do you mean you don’t know the-” He cuts himself off, eyeing her in a way that makes her feel all kinds of embarrassed as her cheeks redden. She feels stupid, and Altheia worries that maybe she has driven away the one mentor who seems to be paying her any sort of attention.

“The announcement was last night what the hell were you doing, girl? The Academy orbits around the Games and you’re telling me you missed the **goddamn _twist_** _?_ ” He’s leaning into her half of the sofa, the invisible space she had been very aware of is shrinking too fast and she stands quickly.

“I was being punished. The Black Room. And I never bothered to watch it after because well…” She trails off but she sees that he understands her unspoken words. His expression shifts and suddenly she feels like she’s staring at someone who resembles the Cato underneath all the attitude.

He nods, once, before picking up the remote and changing the channel. President Snow appears, mid sentence and she stares intently, intent on not missing anything.

“--As a reminder that the Capitol holds the lives of all its citizens each tribute’s fate will be decided by us. They will live and die by our mercy, as the rebels lived and died by our mercy then. We will decide the odds for each and every single one of the twenty four tributes and at the end of the line, it is by our generosity that we will decide to save one of you.”

Altheia sags against the couch, mouth dry, as a thousand possible meanings for that phrase fly across her brain. Saving one of them could mean sending a tribute home and already, regardless of not knowing who else was reaped yet she hopes it is her on the train back. Theseus had practically written her off publicly, there was no way she’d be allowed to join the Careers now not to mention the fact that there was still a high chance that he might try and kill her before then.

Cato changes the channel back to the documentary once he realizes she’s no longer paying attention. It’s only once she tastes blood from worrying her bottom lip so hard that she voices her question. “What does he mean by that?”

Cato sighs, standing up to fetch a pastry that’s been sitting on the table invitingly this entire time. If it wasn’t for her knotted stomach she would have grabbed one too. He chews it slowly and she’s just about ready to yell at him to clarify some things so her head could stop spinning already when he swallows. She tracks the movement. Cato has a strong neck.

“Who knows. The man is a cryptic mystery and the only conversation I had with him felt like I was having three different versions of it.”

Altheia stares at him, waiting for more than that simple statement but it seems Cato is done talking as he very pointedly turns up the volume. Too worried to be alone right now she stays next to him and thinks of all the ways this Quarter Quell could prove to be difficult.

She had never imagined a future for herself. Everything had been determined for her. She was supposed to train at the Academy, marry a Peacekeeper, and then force her children to do the same. That was all she would ever amount to and then, when she caught the eyes of the wrong person all she imagined her future to be was death. Death at the hands of a liar who told everyone she was training Altheia to be stronger, better. And now that girl was dead and Althia was here, in her place.

It was a horribly sobering thought, that had she waiting just a little bit longer she would have been rid of that torment without suffering any consequences. She should have let things run their course, instead of taking matters into her own hands.

Altheia lets these thoughts wash over her with a deep sense of knowing that had she remained patient she wouldn’t be here now. Regret fills her, for a brief moment, because it would have been so simple to let Phaedra do as she pleased so that she would volunteer and spend the next month trying to kill her psycho twin. But there was still the chance that she would come back, alive, with the untouchable status of a Victor and the regret goes away. She would have been right back where she had started.

No. Altheia had made the right choice. Now, she just had to make sure she kept making them. The games after all, were all about making the right choices. And just like then, her choices hold power over her very life.

“You’re thinking too loudly.” Cato mutters.

Altheia wonders how that is possible.

“Just shut up and learn. This is important.”

She doesn’t try and tell him she hadn’t said anything at all nor that she had already seen this documentary in class. She lets her mind empty and learns how to best hold a sword all over again.


	3. Twists And Ghosts Are Only Fun In Books

Cato is trying. He really is. Being sober is a lot harder than it seems, especially now that he’s come face to face with the next tributes. He doesn't even remember their names. Well no, that’s a lie, he knows the girl’s name and he’s trying to forget it. He doesn’t really want to mentor, there were plenty of Victors available to take his place but Brutus had been clear. President Snow was watching him, and he had to prove his loyalty. All because of what he had said to Fire Bitch’s little sister. 

 

What a loud of absolute shit.

 

To make matters worse, they’ve given him Enobaria, who unlike Brutus, believes alcohol ruins the body and mind and has therefore viciously reminded him that should he be unable to control himself he would find a fate worse than death. She does not want to be humiliated in front of the Capitol because its funny when Twelve vomits on the stage but for Two...shit like that gets you written off. 

 

Cato needs his status. He’s not sure for what yet, but he needs it. 

 

The documentary in front of him is wrong about a lot of things. Cato knows this but can't bring himself to change the channel because finally, the girl has fallen asleep. He had noticed her restlessness without even looking at her and he loathes to admit it, but she looks better asleep. 

 

Her curls hide most of her face and for a moment he’s tempted to push them away. He tightens his hands around the third glass of water an Avox provided him. He needs to flush out the alcohol before they arrive at Twelve to pick up their tributes, which should be any minute now. Soon, the reapings will be played on all the channels and he really should wake her up before then. Theseus would most likely want to come see his competition and leaving her vulnerable to someone who so obviously wants her dead would be a failure on his part as a mentor. 

 

_ “Look at you, being all sweet. You guarding her while she sleeps?” _

 

He doesn’t want to look but he does. Her expression is particularly malicious today and Cato closes his eyes, waiting for her to tear into him. 

 

_ “Are you going to guard her like you did me, Cato? Gonna let her DIE LIKE YOU LET ME?!” _

 

“Clove--”His voice breaks. He doesn’t know what to say.

 

Sometime Clove comes angry, other times she’s sad, but even now as she screams at him he’s thankful she didn’t come as a friend. It hurt worse when it was like that. 

 

_ “You pathetic little  _ **_bitch_ ** _. This is  _ **_your_ ** _ fault.” _

 

Clove moves towards him, twisting her head and he feels his stomach tighten at the sight of what Thresh did to her. What he let happen to her. He could never apologize to Clove enough for this. Her eyes fall on the girl on the couch and her mouth twists into a bitter smile. 

 

A whimper breaks the moment and Cato snaps his eyes away from Clove to the girl. She has a frown twisting her delicate features. He looks up and finds that Clove is gone. Cato shifts uncomfortably. He isn’t sure he prefers seeing his dead best friend to the nightmares but that doesn’t change the fact that given the choice he’d want to be woken up. He's just about to wake her when the door slides open. 

 

Enobaria marches in, purpose clear in her steps but stops once she sees how he looms over the sleeping figure of their female tribute. “Wow Cato, I would have never pegged you for someone who is into somnophilia.”

 

He gives her a face as if to say ‘don't be ridiculous’ and settles back into his half of the couch. He hides the tremors in his hands by gripping his cup tight.

 

“You’re no fun. At least Brutus can take a joke.” His old mentor comes to mind, the tense seriousness and constant frown and he wonders how he never once tried to kill Enobaria, who drives even him up the wall. 

 

“What do you want.” Cato counts in his head, trying to stop the shaking so that he can actually focus on the conversation. Enobaria would eat him alive if she spotted the weakness in him. 

 

Unaware of his inner turmoil, she huffs and places down the pastry she had been examining. 

 

“Cato, you need to let her die.” She says this casually, while she moves on to the next thing on the plate. As if they were discussing which pig or cow to kill for dinner and not a girl. 

 

He stares at her, wondering if he used to talk like that about people. If he would still talk about people like that. The girl twitches in her sleep but remains silent, thankfully. The last thing either of them needed was for her to draw Enobaria’s attention to her. 

 

“I thought my job was to mentor.” Cato tosses back the rest of his water, finally coming up with the most neutral response he could, turning away and back to the screen. Looking at Enobaria unsettles him, makes it harder to control the thoughts in his head. 

 

“Exactly, we mentor the boy.” Enobaria rounds the couch and stops herself right in front of the television. 

 

He gives a long suffering sigh and pinches his nose. The migraine is coming back and he aches for alcohol to sooth it. “And exactly why would I want to do that? He’s clearly unstable.” Unstable. Rich words coming from him.   
  


“Like that matters. That girl committed a crime, we should leave her to her own devices.” She pulls back her lips, showing off her famous teeth. He doesn’t have to repress the shudders that used to come at the sight of them anymore. Not when he can think of worse things. 

 

“And who told you that?” 

 

“Cato, unlike you I haven’t spent the last year hiding in my house bathing in liquor. I know what happens in  _ my  _ district and this girl stole the chance of a lifetime away from someone!” Her eyes are dark, and he can see the same insanity in her that he noticed in the boy. They want her blood, and he has no idea why. 

 

“What did she do?” He tilts his head to the side, there is something forming in the corner of the room. 

 

“Phaedra was supposed to volunteer this year Cato. Her and Theseus were going to fulfill their family tradition, twins, in the arena. Think Cato. She wasn’t there to volunteer and the entire district watched her go up in silence. Do you really want to back her? Against your entire district?”

 

He mulls that over, turning the puzzle in his mind because there is most certainly a mystery to what happened at this years reaping. He remembered watching her come up to the stage and the eerie silence that accompanied it. Never in the history of all the Games has a District Two tribute been given the same treatment, the least anyone has ever gotten were half hearted claps. Something about it all had been gnawing at him since it happened and perhaps that was the only reason he could remember her name. Whatever it was, getting to the bottom of all this meant being involved with her. 

 

Enobaria keeps talking, ranting about what a terrible mistake he’d make if he chose to support the girl against the Gemini boy. But the thing forming is taking shape finally. A face appears, and Cato’s heart races. It’s not Clove this time and usually he sees dead people but right now he’s staring at the little girl from Twelve. She cant speak, he doesn’t have any other voice for her except her screaming for Katniss in a terrified voice. She’s mouthing words but Cato wasn’t ever really good at that. 

 

“Cato are you listening to me?” 

 

He stands, moving closer to her, because the swirling black shadows haven’t disappeared from her. She looks trapped and frustrated because she’s yelling and still nothing comes out. 

 

“Cato, what the fuck are you looking at?”

 

He narrows his eyes, “what do you want” he whispers. 

 

Enobaria growls, “what I want is for you to stop acting like you’re the stupid lunatic from Four and answer me!”

 

She raises her hand and he follows her finger. Her expression turns earnest and then she melts away into the shadows. Cato looks to where she pointed and finds the source of all his current problems. He sighs, tilting his head up to the skies. Why couldn’t he just coast this Hunger Games out and then return home so that he wouldn’t have to see crazy shit like this anymore? No more help comes in the forms of people he’s either killed or stolen from so he resolves to just do what they want him to do. Clove clearly had some personal feelings mixed into all this too, maybe it was a way to put her soul to rest. If who he was seeing was actually her and not some form of mental torture his brain had come up with.  

 

“You have my answer.”

 

Enobaria pauses in her rant and Cato rotates his neck to look at her in just the right way to look intimidating and condescending. A little trick he had learned from his older brother. 

 

“You can’t be serious.”

 

“I am. I’m going to mentor her. That’s final.”

 

He sees the anger rolling off her in waves and watches it grow with stubbornness. He can see her trying to intimidate him into lowering his gaze and changing his mind but all Cato does is stare back. Frustrated she pulls away and shoves the empty glass out of his hands. It crashes loudly and the girl jumps awake next to him.  She barely has time to register what’s happening before Enobaria snaps an insult at her, all teeth and venom, and disappears out the door. He can hear crashing and screaming and even their annoying little escort trying to reprimand his mentoring partner. 

 

He stands going over to the door when a  thought crosses his mind. He shouts down the hallway, “Reapings go up in thirty minutes! Be calm by then!” An indignant screech is his response and he smothers the satisfaction it brings him. He hears Clove’s laughter although she remains gone, luckily. 

 

“What happened?”

 

He turns, and tries not to notice the softness of the girl as she stands. 

 

“Nothing.”

 

Cato shuts the door.

 

“You need to tell me the truth. Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure why I decided to go this route for a manifestation of Cato's Survivor's Remorse is we can call it that but I think it might fit more into what I'm trying to do as we go farther along. Let me know what you think?


	4. She Must Pay In Blood

Altheia’s heart drops.

 

“I don’t know what you mean.” She licks her lips, her mouth feels dry when she gets nervous and she’d do anything for some water right about now.

 

“Don’t. I may not know you but I know when someone is hiding something. Now, you tell me or I abandon you like Enobaria wants me to.” Cato crosses his arms, muscles rippling with the movement.

 

“I’m not hiding anything.” She whispers, eyes shut tightly as panic starts to set in.

 

Altheia feels trapped, both in her current physical situation as well by the words Cato has said. She’s stuck in a room with one of the deadliest Victors and she’s stuck in a trap she made herself. She absolutely can’t tell him why she’s here, although she’s sure rumors have reached him by now. If she tells him what happened then he’s just as likely to run to the lawmakers and have her killed or worse, turned into an Avox or some little doll for the freaks in the Capitol to play with. She’d rather have Cato swear her off than do that. She’s had enough of being forced to do things against her will and she will not let anyone lead her to the same fate.

 

She clenches her jaw and narrows her eyes at him. “Be my guest.”   


**_Fuck you._ **

 

Cato’s eyes harden and he lets out a deep breath. She waits for the rage to rise, for him to act out like she had awoken to Enobaria doing. Like he used to be in the Games. Instead he nods and opens the door to the cabin.

 

“Get out. Come back when the Reaping starts.”

 

Altheia waits. Waits for something more than that but as she’s come to learn Cato leaves her waiting, always. She bows her head and brushes past him when his hand latches onto her wrist. Terrified she yanks but he just pulls her closer until they're a breath away.

 

His eyes are searching her face and she wants to close her eyes as his bore into her. She feels naked, once again, as his eyes strip her apart. She isn’t sure he’s found what he’s looking for because his face shifts into a scowl, eyes burning with controlled anger.

 

“Cato…”

 

He lets her go as soon as she speaks and shuts the door in her face. Altheia stares at the dark wood of it for a minute, feeling like maybe she missed something. Like maybe he had been trying to tell her something with his stare.

 

She spends the next twenty minutes staring at her hands on the other side of the hallway, sat on the floor. She had considered going back to her room but with it being so close to Theseus she rejected it almost immediately. He would have calmed down by now and he was so much worse calm. His sister had always been calm and she had been a monster.

 

“Why honey, what are you doing here on the floor?”

 

Altheia blinks and looks up. Theophania is staring at her with a worried expression that would have seriously benefitted from some eyebrows. Her skin looks weird pulled in like that with nothing on top of it. She had also changed, gone was the weird battle uniform she had worn to the Reaping and in its place was a soft white dress. Her hair looked better now too, less like it was drenched in blood and more like red silk.

 

“You look nice.” She says, instead of telling her that Cato threw her out and that she was too scared to go anywhere else.

 

Theophania glows with the compliment and gently helps Altheia up.

 

“Why thank you. You are ever so kind.” She leans in, and puts her hand up like she’s telling a secret, “between the two of us, I think you’re much better than...the boy.” She says it like a joke but her eyes hold something than Altheia can’t identify. Then, just like that, a plastic expression fixes itself on her face and she steps away. “Shall we?” She opens the door and spreads a hand out for Altheia to go first.

 

She nods and steps in and heads straight for the pitcher of water she can see. Her mouth never stopped feeling dry.

 

“Where’s Enobaria.”

 

Cato doesn’t even spare her a glance as he changed the channel. Caesar Flickerman appears with the blackest hair she had ever seen. She stares, surprised at the color before darting her eyes back to Cato.

 

“She’s...still calming down. We still have a minute or two. I’m sure she, and Theseus will appear soon. This isn’t something to be missed after all!” Chipper as ever, she carefully sits herself on an armchair and Altheia wonders if Theophania ever feels anything but cheeriness.

 

Nervously, she starts to chug the water. She drinks two glasses before the dryness even starts to feel less like a desert. Miserably, she goes to grab a third glass when in stalks Enobaria. Theseus’ is on her heels, and they stop whatever conversation they were having once they see the others in the room.

 

“Nice of you to join us.” Mutters Cato as Caesar announces the first District.

Quickly she moves to join them, bringing her full glass and eyes the only empty seat. It’s next to Cato and she thinks about staying at the bar for a moment before she dismisses that idea. It’s too far to seem normal and if she wants to continue to discourage future attacks from her district partner then she has to be next to the only person who can put him in his place. Resigned, she marches over and sits at the very edge of the seat. Cato has spread himself to take as much place as possible, so different from before when he had left ample space between them. He doesn’t move at all but he does offer her a coaster. She smiles to herself and grabs it. Maybe not all hope is lost.

 

“Now, District One. What is there to say about them except that they are exceptional in all ways! Now, on to their tributes!”

 

She watches at Caesar and his partner, who appears to be a woman this year, become a small box in the corner of the screen as the District One Reaping appears. She admits, begrudgingly that they do appear to have a better stage this year, as a pen pal from their Academy had bragged. She wonders, not for the first time, which age bracket they fall in. Pen pals are forbidden from revealing information that could be pertinent to the Games and that includes things like gender, age, as well as skills.

 

Their escort looks no less ridiculous as he did last year, covered in jewels that look embedded in his skin. He’s good with the crowd though and they eat up his speech like a pack of excited hounds. He raises his hand and theatrically, everyone falls silent as he reaches into the bowl. He pauses, before reading out the name and cheers erupt, loud enough for Theseus, who’s right beside the television, to curse.

 

Lace struts up the stage and she can already see the angle she’s playing. A boy in the crowd shouts he loves her and then more follow that and she tosses her head back and laughs but something in her eyes speaks about the kind of person she really is . She blows a kiss to the camera and Altheia wrinkles her nose. Girls like this reminded her too much of things best left forgotten. She finally stops next to her escort, smiling as he reaches in to the other bowl.

 

The cheers are at the same value and Altheia hides her satisfaction when she watches Theseus flinch.

 

The boy, Midas, looks good natured. He doesn’t pump his fist or do anything that makes it seem like he’s excited to get the killing on. He saunters up to the stage, not a care in the world and instead of shaking his partner’s hand, as expected, he gracefully grabs it and lays a kiss upon it. She  looks down on him, with a calculating gaze before they turn to the crowd, raising their hands in unison.

 

“My, my, could we have another star-crossed power couple here?”

 

Next to her, Cato’s hand clenches and she eyes him for a moment, missing the rest of the commentary. He looks furious at the mention of the tributes that almost killed him and she frowns as his eyes unfocus for a moment as he stares into the distance in the corner of the room. Her district is announced and he shakes his head, looking back to the screen.

 

She bites her lip nervously, reopening the slight wound on there as she feels her panic begin. This had already happened to her but still, she watches horrified as the camera looks for their female tribute. Finally, they find her and she notes with a strange sense of fascination that she looks peaceful. Her face is blank, but the natural quirk to her lips make it look like she just might be smiling. The silence is eerie and Caesar mimics it, mouth open in surprise and she walks forward.

 

She hadn’t really noticed it then but the way the people part before her makes her look like she just might be dangerous. The camera focuses on her clothes for a moment, when she climbs the steps and it’s obvious that it’s blood. She wonders if anyone else can tell but then the woman on screen asks quietly if it is and Altheia tightens her fists. Her nails bite into her skin but still she watches tensely as Caesar confirms the woman’s suspicions. She prays no one thinks to ask her whose blood it is. Let them think it’s someone else’s, that would make her appear so much scarier.

 

Finally, she’s turning to the crowd and the camera pans quickly. Her district stares at her and the way she stares back makes her look positively righteous. She looks ready to kill.

 

Altheia snatches the glass from the table before her and throws it back. She wishes it burned on the way down because she could really use a distraction because now she realizes exactly what her entire district could see every time she walked around. She looked like a killer, and in the light of Phaedra’s disappearance as well as her change in demeanor, well no wonder they had all come to the conclusion of her guilt.

 

“Mm, not bad.”

 

She turns sharply to Cato, because what the hell is that supposed to mean. Cato gives her a side long stare before he raises his glass to her.

 

“You look like a threat with the way they’ve set this up. Look, they can’t even see your shaking legs.”

 

She opens her mouth, to insult him or to question him when Enobaria snaps at them to shut up. On-screen Theophania pulls the next name and Altheia watches with a touch of amusement that she jumps again now when the cheers start.

 

Theseus looks like a killer too, in a different way. He looks excited to bring about death while she looks like Death itself. She isn’t sure what the Capital will make of the cheering that was absent when she was called and anxiously she leans forward when Caesar and the lady become big again.

 

“Wow. Wow. Wow.” Caesar brings a hand to his mouth as the woman nods.

 

“I know, that was positively thrilling. The boy of course, typical alpha male, ready to kill. Reminds me a bit of Cato, don't you think?” The woman supplies.

 

“Yes, that’s true but that girl! My, my, my, she looked so...so god-like! I mean, the crowds parted for her. And the respect they showed her!”

 

Altheia nearly drops her empty glass. She wishes for more water and she feels like she might faint from how hard her heart is racing.

 

“You think that was respect Caesar?”

 

He nods, enthusiastically, as he leans forward. “Of course, cheers and worship, that's what humans love. But gods? Why, they want complete and utter obedience. She’s a god.” He leans back, like it was really that simple and then they jump to the next Reaping.

 

Theseus jumps up in that moment, and she’s quick to reach, tossing herself over the back of the sofa and smashing her glass to create some kind of weapon to defend herself. The rage in his eyes is blinding and he’s shaking worse than she had ever seen him do. Theophania is waving her hands around in the air nervously as she watches the both of them.

 

“You? A god?” Theseus seethes, eyes clenching so tight she thinks he might break them with the force of it. “You’re just a spindless little bitch who was my sister’s whore. You’re **_nothing._ **“

 

He races out of the room then, and Enobaria slinks away after him. Tears fill her eyes because now she’s wondering if Phaedra’s secret treatment of hers wasn’t so secret and she nearly collapses from the weight of those thoughts. If more people than Theseus had known...why hadn’t anyone saved her?

 

“Oh my! Your hand, I will fetch an Avox. Wait right here!” Theophania runs away, and Altheia registers then that her hand is bleeding and that she’s sat herself on the glass.

 

“Well, this was lovely. Better pay attention, your godliness, District Four is up.”

  


The rest of the Reapings were uneventful. Theseus stayed gone but Enobaria came back before District Four’s Reaping was done. Her tears were gone by then and Theophania was overseeing the Avox who was methodically stitching her head up.

 

“We weren’t expecting any injuries so unfortunately this will have to do while we wait to arrive at the Capitol. We should be there early tomorrow morning so please, be careful until then.” She instructs, her forehead doing that weird thing it does.

 

Altheia nods and continues to drink the juice that had been brought to her as she studies District Four. The boy volunteered this year, and he looked strong enough to back such a decision.  A girl in the crowd looks positively devastated by this and she quickly assumes there must be something there. The girl, while thin is pretty, definitely pretty enough for sponsors and has some muscle on her. They’re both from her age bracket.

 

“What do you think?”

 

She wants to snap at Cato, to tell him to stick to his decision and abandon her like Enobaria wanted, like her district wanted but she swallows that down. She can’t go around stabbing the hands that feed her.

 

“The boy, he has a reason to go home. The girl….she could be in the Pack this year.” Unlike her, she thinks, and her juice suddenly tastes sour.

 

Enobaria seems to share her thought process because she gives her a pointed look of distaste at her words.

 

Cato nods, “reasons to go home are dangerous things. Never underestimate someone who has people waiting for them.”

 

Her mind supplies Twelve and her sister, who she so famously volunteered for, and she nods. She would not make the same mistake the other Career tributes had made. She would view each and every tribute as a threat, even the ones who didnt look like it. After all, even tiny Eleven had managed to help bring down the Careers to just Cato. If it hadn’t been for One who knows how much further she would have gotten. In fact, maybe she could have won with her partner, who had survived until he crossed paths with Cato just before the end.

 

She continued to analyze all the tributes that showed up on screen. There were no more volunteers beyond District Four and she aside from the huge lumberjack of an eighteen year old from District Seven she didn’t see much more physical threats. The rest of them were all younger than her, and a couple of them smaller. She could probably beat them in a fight.   
  
Altheia frowns.

 

If she beat them in a fight….She’d have to kill them. Altheia isn’t sure she’s capable of that. She did what she had to do, always in the Academy, to survive. But she had never enjoyed the fight. A fact that had gotten her sent to the Black Room too many times to count.

 

She pulls her hand away from the Avox and carefully studies the both of them. Pink little divots from her nails are there, along with some hastily applied bandages and of course, some stitches. She pictures them covered in blood and closes her eyes tightly. The image stays and she’s reminded that not too long ago they looked like that.

 

Altheia learned a lot of things from Phaedra, and one of the lessons that suck with her the most was how hard blood was to wash off.

 

Especially off the soul.


	5. Flowers for the Dying

She didn’t sleep at all that night, after the first nightmare. Every time she closed her eyes she saw herself killing during the Bloodbath. She kills everyone, faster than all of them. Even her partner, who dies sneering at her, hands second away from a weapon. She does it so fast the Capitol decides to reanimate them and have her kill them all over again. Forever. It’s enough to make anyone feel like sleeping is a punishment. 

 

She considered for several hours leaving her room but she kept hearing Theseus prowling around outside and decided it was best not to. She’s thankful she was given a room that could lock, a luxury not available back home. Watching him now grudgingly bite into a piece of meat the dark circles glowing under his eyes let her know he didn’t sleep much either. After he had disappeared some time close to morning she assumed he had given up and gone to sleep. Altheia viciously hopes nightmares kept him up too. 

 

“We should be arriving soon.” Theophania supplies, as her fork clinks against her bowl. 

 

Bless her Capitolite heart. She had spent the better part of breakfast trying and failing to start conversation with either of them, their mentors being mysteriously absent from their morning meal. Altheia responded once or twice, but she guessed that their escort could see the exhaustion dripping from her as she had given up on questioning her directly sometime past Altheia’s third serving of strawberries. They were covered in sugar, and tasted like pure heaven.

 

The door slams open and Theophania jumps and Altheia sees how she almost curses but catches it at the last minute. 

 

“Well aren’t we up bright and early.” Snarks Cato. 

 

He has dark circles too, she notes. Maybe they should make a club. The slogan could be, ‘Sh, we will kill you later….Zzzz.’ She hides her amusement by sipping her juice. 

 

Cato plops himself next to her and piles on what looks like enough food to feed an army. Mouth slightly open she watches as he tears through it like it’s nothing. Even Theseus, known for winning most eating contests back at the Academy, looks a little green. 

 

“Uh...Cato, dear. Have a napkin.” Theophania, ever the subtle one, slides over the stupidly ornate holder. 

 

He casts her an annoyed look but takes it, finally pausing in his devouring. He wipes at his mouth and leans back, eyeing his tribute. “I hope you plan on eating some protein after that.”

 

Altheia bristles. She wants to snap at him to leave her and her strawberries alone but he’s got this menacing grouch face going on and she nods. She reminds herself that she’s trying to not cause any more problems. She takes a deep breath. 

 

“What do you suggest?” She asks. 

 

____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


After breakfast she changed into the outfit Theophania laid out for her. It was black, a dress that when she moved looked like smoke swirling around her ankles. She appreciated it and the effect it gave her. Although it did make her look pale and ghostly and brought out the dark circles in her eyes. When she pointed it out Theophania simply added some darkness on her eyelids, making her eyes appear smokey rather than tired. Interesting choice seeing as she would have chosen to hide them instead. 

 

The Capitol was fast approaching and she glued herself to the window in the living room to watch it. It had tall buildings, taller than any back home and she wonders if they swayed from the wind. They certainly looked like they would. She couldn’t help but think they looked like fingers stretching out to the sky. 

 

“The way you’re acting it’s like you’ve never seen the Capitol.”

 

She turns to face Theseus who looked positively disdainful. “I didn’t go on that field trip.” 

 

“Why not? Everyone at the top went. You were at the top of your weight class and grade by then.” He sneers. “All thanks to my sister.” 

 

She bites her lips and considers telling him it was because of his sister that she didn’t go but drops it. It’s clear he’s still mad, despite the calm facade he’s putting on now. It seems whatever Enobaria said to him stuck, because he hadn’t made a single attempt to hurt her since yesterday. She wants to be thankful but her wariness keeps her from it. 

 

Just before she can make some excuse the door opens and in walk their mentors. Theophania sighs in relief and Altheia shoots her a look. It must be dreadfully hard for her to deal with such a temperamental group. She feels bad before she remembers however human Theophania appears, she profits from these Games. Without them, she’d have no job. That quickly snuffs out any warm feelings she could have for the woman. 

 

“Alright, we are lucky enough to be getting off right after One so look alive. The station is coming up and it is going to be packed. This is your first chance to make an impression.” Enobaria scowls. 

 

“Actually, their first impression of them was the Reaping. Keep those images alive, Ceaser and Tulip came up with good concepts.” Cato ignores the look Enobaria sends him, clearly displeased with being corrected. 

 

“Good concepts…” Theseus looks ready to argue but Enobaria snarls and he shuts up. 

 

She turns her eyes away from them, noticing the way the train is starting to slow down. 

 

“Station coming up!” She calls behind her and does her best to morph her face to one of mild curiosity coupled with general indifferentness. 

 

_ Remember,  _ she thinks,  _ you’re a god. These people are just new worshippers. Get them to root for you.  _

 

The first faces that appear are cheering already but they pause once they spot her. Theseus is quick to join her, putting a generous distance between the two of them. Several people point at her while looking amazed. She nods her head at the few she meets eyes with, acknowledging them. Theseus hisses something at her that sounds vaguely like ‘attention whore’, and she’s sure if it wasn’t for all the eyes on them he would have given her a mean glare. Instead he smiles charmingly and a woman wearing what looks like a fish bowl with actual fish in it, swoons. She fights the urge to roll her eyes and leaves the window as soon as the train stops. 

 

“Lovely, get in your places, I’ll come for you as soon as I know we are clear to go. Can’t have you wandering into the other Districts just yet.” Theophania flutters her hands around her clothes for a moment before stepping into the hallway. 

 

“Any more advice?” Altheia asks Cato. He looks almost worse than he did this morning and he keeps glancing at Enobaria. 

 

Cato eyes her, taking in her appearance and frankly, still wild hair. “No. I doubt you’d listen much anyways.” He glances down and raises an eyebrow. She shifts from foot to foot and is reminded that she’s barefoot. She thinks of looking for her shoes but Theophania is already back, whispering to Enobaria. 

 

“I’d listen.” She raises her gaze to meet his, successfully distracting him from her lack of shoes, and holds it. She wants him to know that she’s not defying him on purpose. She just can’t tell him why everyone wants her dead. She also doesn’t want him to bring attention to her feet. The shoes that Theophania picked were so thin and tall she’s sure she could pick a lock with them.  

 

He frowns before nodding. “If President Snow is to be believed, those people out there hold your life in their hands. Make sure they want to know you. The interview only works if they’re curious about you.”

 

Altheia nods and she glances behind her to see if Theseus is listening but he’s too busy fixing his appearance in the mirror. Vanity was big at the Academy, almost as big as being a threat. ‘ _ What use is killing someone if you couldn't do it while looking pretty?’ _ She remembers and swallows back her disgust. 

“Ladies, gentlemen. It’s our turn.” Theophania lays a hand on her and gently pushes her out towards the exit. She barely catches a glimpse of District One disappearing into the building. She lets Theseus march out first, lets the cheers start. Theophania keeps trying to push her forward and Enobaria grows impatient and slams into her shoulder before taking off after her favorite. 

 

“What are you doing?” 

 

She doesn’t look at Cato, worried he’d see the fear in her eyes. “I want them to focus on me. I don’t care about being late.” She says, quickly, glad the excuse fits. 

 

“Well you better hurry up before they think you’re too scared to get off the train.” She doesn’t miss the way the tone seems almost taunting. 

 

Theophania looks like she’s about to dissolve into a mess of nerves when Altheia finally steps out into view. She can pinpoint the exact moment everyone notices she’s here now because everyone turns. Theseus is abandoned and he falters for a moment, turning to watch her. 

 

Her feet touch the concrete of the station and she schools away the brief flicker of pain she receives at the heat of it. She walks slowly, unbothered by the way the stares linger and the shouts of her name. She lets Theophania grab the flowers people try to hand her and she flicks her eyes to them once or twice, letting her mouth form a small content smile. She prays no one notices the way her knees shake and she’s so grateful a dress was picked for her. She wonders if it was Cato’s comment that led Theophania to choose it. 

 

A girl emerges from the crowd and she stops. The girl doesn’t look old enough to be alone and she casts a look trying to spot her parents. All she sees are people who look nothing like the child who, aside from the shocking blue hair, looks like any regular kid. Shyly the girl reaches out and in her hand is a rose. She thinks about abandoning it too, letting Theophania scramble after her for it but something tells her she should take it. She kneels, bringing herself to eye level with the small child and tilts her head. 

 

“For me?” She asks and the crowd is absolutely silent. 

 

The girl nods and extends the flower. She reaches out and tenderly releases it from her grip. She grins, baring her missing tooth to her. For a moment, looking at her joyous expression she looks like a regular kid and Altheia’s heart stops beating like it’s trying to escape her chest. Altheia reaches out and brushes a strand of hair behind the girls ear before taking her small hand in hers. She focuses on the feeling of her small hand in hers and lets it distract her from the flashes of light and the whispered comments she can hear. She lets the girl walk with her the rest of the way and stops just outside of the doors.  She turns to face the crowd and once again looks for her parents. 

 

“Aquarius!” 

 

She turns her head and a woman steps forward from the crowd, she looks sheepish. “I’m sorry, she got away from me.” 

 

Altheia nods and leads the girl to her mother and disappears back inside the doors. The roars return and she can hear dozens of exclamations of her name. She lets out a long breath and sags against a wall. Her entire body feels like it’s about to fall apart from the force of her shaking. So many eyes on her. She shudders. A hand on her shoulder makes her jump and she turns, exhaling to hide the way her breath got caught in her throat at the touch. 

 

“That was good. Really sold the image. District 3 came out and they were still going on about you.” Cato tugs her along, ignorant to the fact that his hand feels uncomfortably hot on her skin. 

 

Dazed, she follows. His hand it big, and wraps around her bicep without much trouble, despite the muscle there. He has rough hands, a man’s hand. Altheia’s body feels tight with something and she tries to remember the last time someone touched her without trying to hurt her. 

 

“Also, good call on not ignoring the kid. She’s a big sponsor.” His grip flexes and her focus is back on his hand.

 

“Sponsor?” The girl looked barely older than nine. She tries to pull her stare back up as they stop right outside a door. She wants him to let go. 

 

“Aquarius’ parents tried to have children for a long time. She’s the only one and a big fan of the Games. Last year, she picked Twelve as her favorite. That’s how she got the burn cream.” He releases her as the door opens and she swears he leaves physical evidence of his touch behind. 

 

“Where are you going?” Fear takes hold and Altheia reaches for him before she can stop herself.

 

“You’re about to get stripped down and prepped.” Cato says, teeth flashing as he gives her a teasing grin. “Have fun. I hated every second of it.” 

 

Altheia falters. No one ever talked about all the behind the scenes stuff, only about how to act on camera. “What?” She croaks out, hand opening and closing as Cato gives her a little wave and struts off. 

 

“As appealing as I’m sure you look naked, I have people to talk with.” Her cheeks burn at his comment and lets herself be led away to a table. 

 

“Strip.” The woman commands and Altheia fidgets with her clothes. 

She hasn’t been naked in front of anyone in ages and she dreads taking off the dress. She chews her lip as the woman taps her foot impatiently. 

 

“Why?” She asks to stall for time. 

 

The woman huffs and yanks her comically long braids behind her ear. She sees who she can only assume to be her partner in this behind her moving tools around while shooting her a nervous look. They both look small and dainty enough that Altheia could take them. But then again, there’s a uniformed Peace Keeper in the corner and she doubts she’d get very far if she attacked anyone. She’d rather not die because she refused to take of her clothes. 

 

“We need to polish your body, remove hair, get rid of scars, etc.” She gestures to the other team she can barely see and she notes the way One’s female tribute seems largely unbothered by the process. She could even be taking a nap. 

 

“You can get rid of scars?” Her heart races and Altheia’s hand falls to trace the mark on her thigh. Hope worms its way into her and suddenly taking off her clothes doesn’t seem so bad. 

 

“Within reason. It can’t be set in too deep into the tissue, it’d take ages to regrow that and we don’t have forever you know. So please, if you will, take the dress off.”  

 

Altheia takes a deep breath before walking over to the table. The man with her takes on look at her feet and snorts. “I take it you don’t like heels?”

 

Altheia shakes her head as she reaches for the zipper. He’s quick to assist, gently tugging on it. He does his best not to touch her and she silently thanks him for it. Her skin feels like there are bugs crawling all over it and her stomach feels heavy. She doesn’t want to get undressed, not in the slightest, but there’s little choice being given to her and she knows she can’t be too much trouble or else she’ll be screwed. The stylist and prep team can be as useful as her mentor. 

 

“Well a stellar choice really, your escort has the strangest taste.” He whispers this to her and she wonders if he realizes having two different colors for your beard and mustache is not a normal choice either. Not to mention that for some reason, he’s completely bald on the top of his head. Strange indeed. 

 

Altheia gives him a small smile to hide her nerves as she shoves the dress off. They both stare at her and bile rises up when she realizes that she has to get completely  _ naked _ naked.

 

“Well damn, should at least buy me drink. Or give me a name.” She jests and shakily starts to unclip her bra. 

 

The man giggles. “I’m Orion.” He extends his hand and she shakes it, ignoring how surreal all of this is. She’s literally shaking hands with a man who has colored facial hair, is bald, and is wearing what she can only describe as a heavily ornate robe. There’s a dragon on it. 

 

The woman rolls her eyes and picks up the dress and bra. “I’m Daiquiri.” 

 

Altheia blinks because she’s pretty sure that’s the name of a drink but accepts her hand as well. Her grip is firm, firmer than Orion and she finds herself appreciating the strength behind it. 

 

“Now. Shorts off as well.”

 

She sucks in a breath and tightens her grip on the boy shorts. She clenches her teeth and deliberates asking them to turn around. Except that's a ridiculous idea considering they’ll have to turn around eventually and start touching her. She wants to throw up. 

 

“Okay. I can do this.” She whispers to herself and nods, slowly sliding them down. She ignores the obvious marks on her thighs and guides her legs out one by one. Shaking, she hands it to Daiquiri and stands up straight.    
  


Orion looks like he’s trying very hard not to stare but failing completely. There are so many scars on her, some from training and others from...games she had been forced to play but his eyes are missing all of these to focus on the one she hates the most. Altheia wants to yell at him to look away but she can’t because her voice is gone. All sense of ease has left her and she can’t think of any joke or comment to make to distract them from the very obvious name carved into her thigh. Most of it disappears inwards and sometimes, if she thinks too much about it she can feel the knife digging in. Her entire body is shaking and she wants to find the courage to laugh but she can’t. She feels exposed in all the worst ways and she can’t imagine how she ever thought it would be okay. She want’s Cato here. He, at least, is familiar, and she’s sure he would have snapped at them by now. 

 

Daiquiri opens and closes her mouth and her expression shifts into an uncomfortable look of pity. “I….I don’t think I can heal that. I’m sorry.” Her mouth tightens and she turns away to reorganize the tools even though Orion literally just did that. 

 

“Not even to make it fade?” Her voice cracks and her eyes water. She wanted so desperately for the mark to disappear. She had tried to hard to heal it but every time it looked like it might fade it had gotten re-carved into her. 

 

“Honey...I…” Orion reaches out to her and his hands nervously hover for a moment before he lets them fall back to his sides.    
  


“Time.” Altheia casts a look to the Peacekeeper as he opens the door for a new tribute. Three she assumes, as they shoot her glare. Bold of her.    
  


“I know what time it is.” Hisses Daiquiri and the Peacekeeper shakes their head. 

Orion looks irritated too and her heart warms a little bit. It’s obvious they’re unsure on how to proceed, especially with the evidence her body bears. Altheia takes the first move and lays gingerly upon the table. The metal is cool and she sinks into it, using it to ground her in the present moment and not the awful memories trying to resurface. 

 

“I’m in the Remake Center. I’m on a table.” She mumbles to herself, focusing on the light above her. 

 

“I’m going to wax you okay. I have to take everything off.” Orion says, showing her the tools he will be using. “Then I’ll rub this on you, it’ll prevent any new growth for a couple of months.” 

 

“Really?” Surprise colors her tone.

 

“Yes, it’s new. Fresh from the lab. I tried it.” He gestures to his head and Altheia laughs a little, feeling herself ease into this. 

 

Daiquiri appears, a nail file in her hand. “I’m gonna do your nails, hands and feet and the do my best with all your scars.” Her eyes dart to the one on her thigh and purses her lips. “I can fade it enough so that it doesn’t look so...fresh.” Her eyes show clear disgust and while she knows it must be aimed at whoever did this to her and not specifically for Altheia she flinches. 

 

“We will take care of you.” Orion says, running a soothing hand down her arm before placing down a layer of warm wax. It feels nice. 

 

“Okay. Let’s do this.” She still hates that she has to be naked but at least she got them two. She’s not sure the prep team with three would have been as understanding. She can hear them yelling at her to strip. 

 

Orion starts counting down from three and before she can ask why he yanks and her whole body jumps.

 

Wax is not nice. 

  
  
  
  


After what feels like an eternity later she’s taken to seperate room. A robe was given to her shortly after everything was done and she had felt so relieved to have  _ something  _ she teared up. Her prep team looked apologetic and Daiquiri had lean in to tell her that as soon as won the Games she would book her an appointment to remove the hideous brand on her. The emotions in their eyes made her want to like them that much more but once again, the thought that she was essentially business to them filled her head. If she won, well, chances were that they would become her permanent team. Them wanting her to win had nothing to due with her as a person. 

 

These were the thoughts filling her head as she traced the mark on her leg. It wasn’t as rough now and it wasn’t as raised either. The redness was gone and now it looked a light pink. She swallowed painfully as she once again thought about removing herself. It was so awful to think that the person who did this to her was gone and yet, here she was, toting them along with her.

 

“I’ll kill you.” She whispered, nails digging into the mark. “I’ll kill you and soon you won’t matter to me anymore.” Conviction filled her tone and she watched as blood appeared. 

 

“Kill who?”

 

She jumped and whirled around, hands in front of her face as she dropped into a stance. 

 

The person was of indistinguishable gender and they stared at her with glowing gold eyes. Their skin was dark too, like sheer darkness, making the eyes appear that much brighter. It was obvious that this person was her stylist given the brief description she had received from Orion. She straightened and tilted her head up. They were tall, but unlike most of the tall people she knew, they looked slim rather than muscular. 

 

She doesn’t say anything. Just stares them down as best as she can despite the fact that she is wearing far too little to look the slightest bit intimidating. 

 

“Well then...My name is Eros.”

 

She wrinkles her nose at the odd name and recalls distantly a story she had been told as a child. Before stories at bedtime were replaced by fear and loneliness. She takes their hand and shakes it.

 

“Eros, pleasure working with you. Promise me you won’t dress me like a hammer or anvil.” An evil fate which befell the last difficult and rude set of tributes some years back. She hopes that her reluctance to undress and the probably ill mood of her district partner hasn’t doomed them to a terrible outfit for the Tribute Parade.

 

They toss their and laughs and she marvels at the fact that even doing that, they remain largely ambiguous to her. She’s unable to tell whether they are man or woman and wonders if they would take offence to her innocent question.

 

  
“Never! No. I’m going to mold you to be the image Ceaser is selling. He and you have practically done all the work for me.” They grin. “Now, I was told you walked out of the train barefoot?"  
  
  
  
  



	6. The Tribute Parade

The person in front of the mirror is not her. It can’t be.

 

“What do you think?”

 

Altheia raises a hand and the reflection follows. Smoke swirls with all her movements and she feels tears spring to her eyes. She doesn’t look like herself and it excites her as much as scares her.

 

“Don’t cry you’ll ruin it all.” Chastises Eros as they gently wipe the tears from her face.

 

She nods and tilts her head back, willing herself not to cry. Eros made her look terrifying and with a shaky breath she tries her best to get into character.

 

“Here, I wasn’t sure if I should do this, given its side effects but it’ll make you look that much more...goddess-like and--”

 

“Do it.” She still feels like herself and she can’t be the Altheia she was. She needs to start becoming the person the Capitol is seeing. However hard it is to keep the image up for longer than ten minutes. It can’t feel like pretend anymore.

 

Eros steps back and grins. Like magic, a tiny bottle appears in their hand. It glow and she wrinkles her nose. It looks dangerous and maybe even a little radioactive given the soft light it gives off.

 

“Your eyes are light enough that this,” they shake the bottle, “will make them go from that gorgeous brown to gold.” They move forward and open the bottle. It had a dropper and they squeezed it, gathering the shimmering liquid. “It’ll make your vision just a little bit blurry, but not to worry. Should be gone by tomorrow morning at the latest.”

 

The liquid dropped and she winced at the slight sting but let them continue. After a moment where her eyes were fanned they stepped back and inhaled deeply. She blinked at Eros and willed her face to change. She narrowed her eyes and moved her head so it appeared like she was looking down on him. Straightening her shoulders she shifted, feeling the fabric under her dress move.

 

“When do you want me to do the reveal?”

 

“After Twelve appears, I don’t want them stealing the spotlight this year. You do it as soon as they show up, draw the camera back to you. Let their eyes follow you.”

 

Altheia nods and lets Eros grab her and lead her from her high chair. She casts another look at the mirror and sucks in a sharp breath. Her eyes were gold, but not like regular human gold but rather like the blood of the gods, if her childhood stories were to be believed. She moves her head from side to side and marvels at how they stand out amongst all the black war paint surrounding her eyes. The beads in her warrior braids clink together and she bares her teeth. Eros had filed the canines just enough to appear slightly pointed and she’s thankful he hadn’t gone for Enobaria’s fangs. It would have pushed too much, made her look like a cartoon rather than an embodiment of the concept she’s going for.

 

“Are you ready now?”

 

“Yes. I am.” Altheia tears her eyes from her image and turns, holding her head up, like a royal.

 

Eros smiles and takes her hand and places it on the crook of their elbow and leads her out of the dressing room. Daiquiri and Orion are standing right outside and they both gasp when they see her. She smirks.

 

“Damn, you look scary.” Daiquiri smacks Orion.

 

“You also look beautiful.” She takes in the whole look and pauses at her feet. “Heels?”

 

Eros shakes their head. “No, she’s going like that. Show them why.”

 

Altheia nods and steps away, moving a couple paces ahead.

 

“Is that blood?”

 

She turns and eyes the dark red footprints. It looks oddly realistic and she fights queasiness growing in her. Orion reaches down touching it and comes up with clean hands. He looks puzzled and she reaches down and takes off the clear shoe she’s wearing. Eros managed to mold it to her feet with something called ‘silicon.’ The bottom of it shimmers and has some kind of red base that emits perfect imprints of her feet. Like a stamp. Or something. Altheia could probably tell you all about how weapons are made or how to best kill someone while drawing it out for forever but these kind of things escape her.

 

“Wild! So cool!” Orion turns and flips her shoe before helping her put it back on. It fits seamlessly and she looks just as barefoot as she did a second ago. Crazy.

 

“Although, they won't see it? Why are you doing it?”

 

Eros shrugs and takes her hand again and starts leading them away. “Art is not for everyone to enjoy sometimes, Orion. You should know, these costumes are the first live impression the tributes get of each other. It should send a message.”

 

Daiquiri nods looking impressed as they round a hallway. “How long do they last? I don’t want to have to clean them up later.”

 

Eros pats Daiquiri’s shoulder leaving her question unanswered. Daiquiri huffs and starts muttering behind them while Orion does his best to calm her down. Eros shoots her a smile as they come to two huge double doors.

 

“Now, through that room is your competition. They’re going to be terrified when they see you.”

 

She shakes her head. “Eros...Theseus wrote me off, when he didn’t shake my hand.” Altheia tightens her grip on her stylist, biting her lip nervously.

 

“So? Make them think it was because he was threatened by you.” Eros grabs her chin and lifts her face from her chest and moves their hand to straighten her posture. “When it’s time just roll your shoulders back, hard. If it doesn’t go the way it’s supposed to there’s a rope you can pull, hidden in the back of the dress, under the first layer. Just make sure to look fierce when you do it.” Then Eros nods to the Avoxes and the doors open.

 

She blinks under the harsh lighting of the room and finds that even though her vision grows accustomed to the light, that anything past twenty feet is completely blurry. She hopes Eros told her the truth because having bad eyesight is a terrible problem to have going into the Hunger Games.

 

“Oh my, what were some of these stylists thinking? Is that Twelve I see? Covered in flame body paint? And a fish again? You gotta be kidding me.” Orion looks green at all the terrible outfits and she squints, trying to see the tributes as Eros ushers them forward.

 

“They really screwed up by firing Cinna. He had so many good concepts, for all the Districts.” Daiquiri sighs.

 

Altheia lets go of Eros once eyes start being drawn to her and she casts a quick glance around who she can see. She spots Theseus first, and takes note that he’s dressed as Hercules, given the shield with a snake-haired woman imprinted on it. A good costume, although she’s feeling satisfied knowing that their costumes weren’t meant to match much beyond the theme. It was smart considering the entire nation had probably noticed the tension between them.

 

He was talking to One which once again, looked to be bedazzled with jewels and draped in luxurious fabric. They all turned to look at her in unison and given the once over and quick dismissal she gets from Lace she assumes that she's not going to be invited over to join them.

 

She turns as Eros is caught by a stylist and they all give her an apology as the red-dressed capitolite steals her entourage away. Alone, she falters for a moment and disguises it by looking around. So far, mostly everyone has seemed to arrive with the exception of a tribute or two and some mentors. Speaking of which, hers seems to be nowhere to be found. Just as she's considering trying to talk to Four (which, now that she can see them, they look absolutely ridiculous) someone grabs her.

 

“You look lonely.”

 

Altheia fights the urge to rip the hand off her and instead smiles pleasantly as a kiss is laid upon her hand. “A woman like me is never alone for long. Am I correct in assuming you’re Finnick Odair?”

 

There is no mistake to be made. She watched his Games several times and had seen more than half of his interviews following that. He was a favorite among the girls back home, if only for his looks. Looking at him she can see he’s as handsome as he looks on television but it doesn't change the fact that she doesn’t want a stranger touching her at all. She slips her hand out of his hold as soon as his lips leave it.

 

“At your service...Altheia, I believe it is?” He smiles and pops something into his mouth. “Sugar cube?”

 

“Odair.”

 

Altheia shivers at the dark tone and glances up. Cato doesn’t even glance down at her, only moves forward, brushing against her back as he places himself in between Finnick and her.

 

“Don’t you have your own tributes to look after?” She tries to peek around him but Cato, quicker than lightning, bars her with his arm. “Why are you bothering mine?”

 

Finnick raises his hands and takes a step back. “Sorry, didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to talk to this one.”  He grins and winks at her. “Guess we’ll have to catch up some other time, Altheia. It was lovely meeting you.”

 

As soon as Finnick is gone Cato turns around and glares. “What do you think you’re doing?”

 

Altheia fights the urge to cross her arms as he moves closer. “He came to me, I barely even said hello.”

 

“Don’t. He’s dangerous company.” Cato’s hand grabs her arms. Heat rushes through her and her eyelashes flutter as it sinks into her. She has been cold since she last saw him.

 

“So are you.” Altheia hears the change in her tone and mentally rebukes herself. She sounds pathetic and looking up at Cato she worries that he’s noticed.

 

Cato shakes his head. “Not like me. Odair is mixed up in some bad things. Don’t become his friend.” His expression gives nothing away and he leans down, so that their eyes are level. “Say that you’ll stay away from him.”

 

Altheia nods.

 

“Say it.” His grip tightens.

 

“I’ll stay away from Finnick.” She whispers.

 

“Good. Let’s get you to your spot, Eros told me your vision is terrible right now. Stupid stylist.” Cato starts leading her away.

 

Altheia glances behind her and feels her veins turn to icy slush when she catches Finnick’s stare. His eyes are intense, disturbing almost and it isn’t until Twelve’s mentor stumbles into him that he looks away.

 

She shivers and presses herself closer to Cato. If he notices he doesn’t say anything, just snaps at an Avox to tell them which chariot belongs to her. Cato’s got his arm tight around her arm and she wonders if he knows of any other way to lead a woman. He doesn't seem to realize he’s holding her like he’s taking her to be interrogated and Altheia worries that under all the fabric there is a new bruise forming. She’s always marked up easily and even if the grip isn’t as tight as she knows it could be, it’s still enough that her arm tingles from it.

 

“Finally.” He mutters as the Avox takes off like hell is on their heels.

 

After a moment of silence where he just glares off into the distance she gets the courage to ask. “What do you think?”

 

“That that Avox sure took their damn time leading us here.”

 

“Not about that.” Frustrated, she yanks herself free from his grip and steps back. “About this.” She motions to the outfit.

 

Cato stares at her like she’s grown a second head before sighing and taking the moment to really look at her. He reaches out and touches the material before moving on and grabbing a braided strand. He moves closer while he studies the beads before moving onto the intricate design on her face and neck. He reaches up and tilts her head away so he can look closer.

 

All the while Altheia is trying very hard to remain still. When she had asked for his opinion she expected a flippant once over much like Lace and some sort of dismissive remark. Instead Cato is studying ever detail of her costume and she’s not sure what to do or say. Him being this close sets of her nerves in way that makes her feel like running as much as she feels like pulling him closer. It’s a terrifying concept considering she doesn’t ever want anyone closer and half the time she thinks Cato is only doing these things to her because he doesn't know how to interact with girls. In the Academy fraternization between genders was explicitly forbidden, considering anyone could get reaped or volunteer. Aside from the balls that were held every year for the graduating class interactions other than fighting each other were rare. Even classes were divided among gender and then skill in the subject. Altheia has never been this close to a boy, not unless they were both bleeding. And Cato wasn’t even a boy. He was a man. A man who was touching her. 

 

“How long does this last?” He asks, reaching up and touching the corner of her eye. She blinks a little too fast and wonders if her eyelashes against his thumb feel weird.

 

“I don’t know. Eros only told me that the blurriness will be gone by tomorrow.” The words are barely audible and if they were not so close together she doubts he would have heard.

 

She’s so thankful that the blush is well hidden under her makeup and even more thankful that they’re mostly hidden from view given their stance on the other side of the chariot. Anyone who wanted to see them would have to walk around and the only people who would, belong in the chariot over.

 

“I think they’re better brown.” He shrugs and moves his hand to her back. There is a hole at the base of it and she shivers as his hand slips inside and up her spine. “What’s this?” He taps the heavy material bundled there.

 

“A surprise.” She gasps out.

 

“I don’t like surprises. Tell me.” Cato drags his hand back out leaving fire in his wake and she feels a whole new kind of dizzy.

 

“Cato-!”

 

She jumps away, and does her best to appear casual as Theophania appears. She pauses and glances between the two of them and Altheia bites her lip nervously. She hopes that the escort hadn’t seen anything.

 

“Ah, I was just about to say that no one had seen her in a while. I was worried.” Theophania looks her up and down and Altheia wonders if she can see anything, like the flush to her skin or the millions of thoughts whirling through Altheia’s brain. “You look gorgeous darling, parade is about to start so please, do get in your spot.” Then she’s gone, probably to find her partner.

 

She’s still reeling from Cato’s actions and she nearly falls out of her skin when he approaches. “Come on, tribute. Let’s go.” She ignores his hand and walks around ready to climb the damn thing rather than accept his touch on her again.

 

“It’s tall.”

 

He’s right but she’s not going to ask for his help and chooses to run the risk of flashing everyone in the room rather than seek his help. He’s rolling his eyes when she turns to look at him but she feels nothing if not triumphant.

 

“Don’t touch me again.” She says.

 

He arches an eyebrow. “You’re not in a position to demand things from me. You won’t even tell me the truth.” He inches forward and it doesn't escape Altheia that even now, a foot higher, he doesn’t have to look up much. Cato is impossibly tall and as he reaches up to grab both edges of the chariot she acknowledges that he’s impossibly built too. Every time he moves his muscles flex and move under his skin and it cements his statement even more. She’s under his mercy, always, even before the Capitol.

 

“I can’t tell you, Cato. I told you. Just please...respect my wishes. Don’t touch.”

 

He stares at her for so long that she’s worried he’ll go against her just to spite her. Then he just nods and pulls away. “As you wish.” Then he turns and stalks off. She barely has time to be surprised because here comes their escort and her district partner.

 

Theophania passes him, stopping and giving the both of them bewildered looks. She opens her mouth to ask but Altheia shakes her head. Theseus is right behind her and he’d sink his claws into her if he knew anything about what had just happened. He doesn’t climb up like her, instead he just jumps and in a single fluid movement he’s next to her. He barely spares her a glance, just steps into his spot and lets the mechanism on it lock him into place. She follows and winces because the grip of it is tight. She supposes it has to be, given that it’s to keep them from trying to get out and potentially be run over or something else.

 

District One’s chariot is already pulling out. Lace doesn't even look at her but Midas does. He gives her a curious look before nodding at them both. Theseus grumbles next to her and she files that away for later. If there’s debate about who is the leader of the Career pack then it could prove to be beneficial to her. Maybe she can even manage to turn the tables and make Theseus the outcast instead of her. All she has to do is garner support from Midas and District Four. But that would mean interacting with their mentor and convincing him to talk with them….a problem considering Cato had just expressly told her not to.

 

The chariot jerks under her and she fixes her face just in time for them to appear in front of the masses. If the cheering had been loud before it was deafening now. She raises a hand and catches a flower. It’s a rose and when she looks for the origin all she sees is blue hair. She thinks it might be Aquarius so she presses the flower to her heart and smiles. The cameras capture the moment and she’s relieved to see she was right as she watches Aquarius blush and wave back timidly.

 

She takes no more flowers from the crowd although Theseus seems to have collected a pantie and she fights the urge to laugh as he lets it disappear into his robe. He shoots her a glare and she smirks turning her eyes to the screens showing off the next tributes. She sees everyone and feels grateful all over again for her stylist because some of them look absolutely insane. District Four was barely visible inside the mouth of the giant spiky fish and District Seven looked even worse. Rather than a living tree they had been dressed naked, save for some strategic leaves covering important bits, although it seemed no one thought their asses to be that important. The camera had lingered more than a little long on that before rushing to catch up on showing off the others. As Twelve comes into view she straightens and focuses her face to appear back on the screen. Their costumes pale in comparison to last year and she knows even without the added touch she’s about to do that she’s easily the best dressed tribute here.

 

She’s just rolling her back when Theseus reaches over and shoves her. The chariot shakes as she slams into the front of it and had it not been for her feet being attached to the bottom of it she would have been forced out of it and crushed. Her shoulders jerk and the wings are flying out before she can stop, before she can think of a better plan she lets out an angry yell. It’s mostly hidden by the cheering but when the cameras fall back on her she looks furious. Smoke rises from her back and as the wings beat down it waves it out, hiding Theseus from view. This is **_her_** moment. She stands tall, raising her chin defiantly and spreads her arms out. The anger in her eyes is smoldering and she feels every bit the avenging fury she’s dressed as. She’s a goddess and no one gets away without giving their due.

 

The quiet in the arena is broken suddenly and then her name, not her district number, is being shouted from all angles. She smirks and lets out a victorious laugh as they wheel away from the main crowd and stop in front of Snow. He comes out and since she knows the cameras are still focused on her she bows her head. He raises a hand and the crowds cease their chanting and Theseus finally emerges from the haze of smoke as her wings have stopped beating and simply choose to rest against her back. The fabric that had hidden them flutters behind her like cape and she can’t deny that she isn’t in love with the person she sees. The woman on screen looks like no one could ever touch her.

 

“You stupid bitch. I’ll get you.” Theseus hisses as he wipes at the soot on her face.

 

She doesn't give him a reply just watches Snow give his speech with a content smile. Theseus’ anger can’t reach her right now. The speech is a lot like the announcement they were given about the twist and he dismisses them with a reminder that their fate in in the hands of him and the Capitol. She doesn't even shift when the chariot jerks into motion again and takes them back to where they came from. She feels positively radiant when they get back knowing that she was most definitely the star of the show tonight.

 

Theseus jumps off the second their released and he’s shouting the entire time. His stylist looks frightened to death as he curses at her. “How the fuck did she get do that! You were supposed to make me look better than her!” It takes too extremely big Peacekeepers to yank him away from her and Enobaria looks annoyed with all of this.

 

“Someone needs to go to bed.” She mutters as she waves the Peacekeepers away.

 

Theseus pulls away long enough to punch one of them and she feels more than a little content when someone sticks him with a tranquilizer. He’s out in a second and the tension bleeds out of the room. Three, who had come in right after, finally stepped down, both of them shaking as their mentors ushered them away.

 

“Well. A surprise indeed.” Says Cato finally as he shoves his cup at Theophania who was previously wiping her tears away. “Who were you supposed to be?”

 

Altheia shrugs as she jumps down. The red stands out among the grey concrete and she traces her journey with her eyes. The footprints were still there. They sure did last long.

 

“Guess?”

 

He comes forward and just as she’s afraid he’s coming to touch her he pauses. He studies the wings and then the symbols before he grins. She’s dazzled by the brilliance of it and it isn’t until she smells the alcohol and sees his dilated pupils that she realizes he’s acting like this because he’s been drinking. She wonders if he’s drunk but he’s not slurring at all and he still looks very much in control.

 

“You’re Nike.” He gestures to all of her before humbly bowing, giving her another boyish grin that causes her heart to pick up the pace. “The Goddess of Victory.”

* * *

  
  
  



	7. Drink Up

Cato is thirsty. He had tried a different tactic, at the chariot. He thought maybe if he distracted her enough, that she’d give in. It was a little underhanded but he really only thought to use it when she had sunk into his touch. She felt something, whenever they touched. Which is why he was so confused right now. Don’t touch her. What kind of request is that? She liked it, her pupils had dilated, her breath rushed, her face flushed. He didn’t understand women. 

 

_ “You know, it sucks that the only drink I ever had was with you on the train.” _

 

Cato is tired.

 

Clove is back, although it looks like she’s feeling benevolent. She’s dressed in reaping best, an outfit he’s seen her wear several times. Strange, considering he usually sees her in her arena outfit. 

 

“Can I get some whiskey?” 

 

The bartender doesn’t even bother asking him if it’s one or two fingers, just pours him a big glass. Cato isn’t looking to enjoy it, just looking to feel less like shit about being mostly sober.

 

_ “I always wanted to try champagne. We were going to, remember, after we won?” _

 

“I remember.” He mutters, as he turns to watch the screen. The drink doesn’t burn as much as it used to. 

 

She looks great out there, the camera keeps pulling back to her, despite the steady stream of tributes. He still can’t figure it out but it’s got to be some kind of greek or roman goddess. There’s no way, especially if you consider the boy’s outfit. 

 

_ “Wish I got to look that pretty. I’m just sitting in my grave. They buried me in this old thing.” _

 

Cato closes his eyes, willing Clove to go away. She’s got the saddest look on her face and he can’t take it. He won’t know what to do if she starts crying. Not like he can do anything but watch her cry. Helpless. Like he felt holding her body. Just helpless. 

 

“Give me what he’s having.”

 

Cato sighs.

 

At least Clove is gone. 

 

Twelve’s mentor looks particularly haggard and it looks like his sobriety stint last year is over. He’s got at least six drinks on Cato and at this rate, watching him throw back what could be number seven, he’ll never catch up. 

 

“So what brings you here?” Cato says, giving him the side eye. 

 

“Well, my lot has no winners this year. Thought I’d see what your odds are.” Twelve smacks down his empty glass, bartender already coming in with a new pour. “You know, just leave it. I’m gonna finish this, with my good friend here.”

 

Cato rolls his eyes but let’s him refill his glass. “Misery loves company.” He snarks. 

 

Twelve throws his head back and laughs. It’s not really that funny but he’s sure at this point it’s either laughter or straight mental breakdown from the guy so Cato watches it pass with the creeping sensation that he could very well be looking at his own future. What an awful thought. 

 

“So true! Wow, beauty and brains. You’re parents must be so proud.” 

 

He won’t admit it, but he does find the way Twelve says that funny. 

 

“Hey did you know, that in District Seven, they have an alcohol made of bark?”

 

“Sounds like it tastes like shit.” 

 

“Sh, don’t let Johanna catch you talking like that.” He leans in close, whispering too loud to really even be called whispering.

 

“Or what? There’s no axes around here.” 

 

“Funny too.” Twelve smacks his back.

 

There’s a hidden strength in it too and Cato narrows his eyes. Twelve is most definitely not as drunk as he’s playing. He’s as sly as that Johanna. 

 

“Why are you really here, Twelve?”

 

“Drop the formalities. We’re not tributes, Hadley.”  His eyes change and Cato wonders how he ever thought he was just a drunk. This man won his Games by thinking alone. 

 

“Fine, what do you want Abernathy.”

 

“Something’s up with that girl. We’ve heard things.” 

 

Cato’s instincts kick up. He moves, bringing himself to full size. “In District Twelve?”

 

Abernathy shakes his head. “No. Us Victors. You know, the ones that actually talk to each other.”

 

“And what would that be?” Cato raises an eyebrow. 

 

“Not here. Meet me tomorrow, when our tributes are training.” Then he shifts, gone is the man he’s been talking to and instead the drunk is back. Like he switched hats rather than entire personas. Cato is more than a little impressed. “Woaah, shit look at that! Did he just knock her over?”

 

Cato’s head whips around as the camera’s catch his damsel of a tribute get knocked into the front of her chariot. He’s up, without a plan in mind because what was he going to do, really? He’s going to tear the asshole in half but then, she’s throwing her head back, with a shout that leaves his entire body tingling. Then, two massive wings burst out of her back and he’s left watching with his mouth agape. 

 

Twelve wolf whistles. “Damn, you definitely have a winner. Look at her.”

 

She grins, and for a moment, Cato lets him believe she’s already won. But sentiments like that open you up for grief and he’s learnt his lesson from last year. He turns and chugs the bottle. Clove is back. 

 

He drinks with Twelve until he feels like he’s reached the limit Enobaria has enforced. He feels like he’s at the lake, on a boat, rolling gently. He likes this feeling, he hasn’t been able to reach it in a long while, and definitely with so few drinks. He stands, fortunately steady and smiles.  

 

“Back to the ol’ grind.” Twelve slurs. “Hey!”

 

The bartender turns, nervously wiping away at the broken bottle that his drinking partner had dropped. 

 

“Put it on his tab, will you?” Twelve swings his feet out and claps Cato on his shoulder. “You’ve owed me a drink since last year.”

 

Cato watches him go, heart twisting painfully. When he killed Katniss he hadn’t thought that he’d be killing more than just a girl. His mind supplies her sister, her missing mother, and now this mentor, who looks absolutely done with all of it. It’s a matter of time before the drink kills him. 

 

“Mentors, to the Chariots.”

 

Cato exhales.

 

As predicted, the little prince of pain comes out screaming. Cato watches the temper tantrum wondering if he had looked as pathetic when Katniss had shown him up. He hopes not. He sips his glass, wondering if he should step in, maybe punch his lights out. A small price to pay for his attempt on his tribute. 

 

His tribute. 

 

The tranquilizer takes him down, finally. He almost tells the Peace Keepers to just dump him in the entrance of District Two’s apartment rather than in his bedroom. Except, that she looks even better like this and his hands are itching to touch the wings. Cato liked fabric, he liked the feel of it. It always brought him back to his mother, and all her rich dresses. Although, anyone who knew that secret is either dead or gone now. 

 

“Well. A surprise indeed.” Cato abandons his cup, he hopes she doesn’t pick up on the drinking. “Who were you supposed to be?”

 

She’s got this twinkle in her eye, so unlike the other look she gets when he asks about the things she’s hiding. He needs to find out. He’s tried being scary, intimidating, ultimatums, even a little seduction. Maybe flattery?   
  


“Guess?”

 

He comes forward, careful to stop just before he touches her. Cato will do as she asks, but he’ll do it his way. He studies the wings, the symbols, going through his memory of myths and figures before settling on the one that makes the most sense. 

 

‘ _ Gotcha’ _ , he thinks. 

 

He grins.

 

* * *

  
  


“Have you reconsidered your stance?”

 

He peeks at Enobaria from the corner of his eye. He makes sure to chew loudly, knowing how much the noise bothers her. Her face is twitching as she shifts. He swallows, going to take another bite when she reaches forward and tosses the pizza he had across the room. It smacks loudly, and sticks. 

 

“Enobaria.”

“Cato.” She scrunches her nose, baring her teeth ever so slightly. 

 

He reaches into the box on the coffee table, snatching another slice. “No. I haven’t.”   
  


“Why?”

 

“Did you and I not watch the same recaps? They love her.” He takes a bite, continuing on with his mouth full. “Her approval ratings are higher than we have had for any tribute, including us two. Our District isn’t known for having interesting tributes.”   
  


Enobaria huffs, crossing her arms. “So? She’s a slut in a pretty dress. We don’t need another Capitol whore.”

 

Cato stiffens, eyeing the room. He hadn’t had the chance to check if it was bugged yet. His house was. The less they pretended to know the better. 

 

“So, this means sponsors. Lots of them. Also, it’s the Quell. Safe to say, the Victor of this Games relies directly on approval of the citizens. Theseus has none of that. He’s barely in the running for favorites.”

 

Currently, his tribute was in the top slot with Midas and Lace. It kept changing, dropping her in third before jumping her to first, like a weird shuffle as people decided between the three. Then, District Four follows. Theseus is below all of them. 

 

“He’s not even top five.”

 

Enobaria sniffs delicately, rising from her spot. “Well, if that’s how it is.” In a flash, his pizza is gone, grabbed and tossed out the window. 

 

Cato watches, more than a little annoyed, at her temper tantrum. Why is everyone around him so ridiculous? He can’t enjoy a drink, can’t enjoy a damn pizza, he bets that sleep will be as inescapable here as it was on the train too. Like icing on the shitty cake that makes up his life. 

 

“Goodnight!” He calls as the door slams. 

 

He settles in to watch the polls. 

 

“Oh! This just in from the Gamemakers! We, my fellow citizens, have the right to decide who goes to training tomorrow! We can even ban certain tributes from stations or just ban them altogether.”

 

Cato freezes, hand still poised to shut off the television. 

 

“You see, training is where most alliances are formed and where tributes learn life saving skills. Without this time, it could mean death in the arena. Voting starts, now! Get to voting, you have until nine in the morning tomorrow.”

 

Shit. 

 

Cato has some calls to make. 

 

Hours later, when he’s absolutely sure she won’t drop below the line of tribute’s being allowed into the Training Center he goes to bed. For once, the only nightmare he has is of himself dying. He only wakes twice, hands grasping at his eye. Both times, there is no arrow. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	8. Dry My Tears

_ “Take it off.” _

 

_ Her hands shake.  _

 

_ The buttons won’t come undone.  _

 

_ “Please, I don’t understand.” _

 

_ A flash of teeth.  _

 

_ “I saved you. Now you’re mine.” _

 

_ A sharp tug.  _

 

_ The buttons clink against the flooring.  _

 

_ A hand reaches out, warm and inviting. But then it turns to claws and ragged red lines burn a path across her soft skin.  _

 

She cries out hands yanking at her clothes as she falls out of bed. Heart thumping, she peers at her dark surroundings and finds no familiarity. This room is not hers. But it’s not Phaedra’s either. Tears slip down her face as she shudders. Even now, so far removed from that girl she still suffers. 

 

Rising from the bed, desperate to stop the wild panic building in her she marches into the bathroom. She agonizes over which setting to use, thinking back to the fire Phaedra used to surprise her with as well as the burning ice baths she was shoved under. She wants to erase her from her memory, would do it in a heartbeat, even if it erased everything that made her who she is now, would destroy all the skills she learned through suffering under her. She wants to go back home. Except home isn’t the Academy nor is it with her parents. Home used to be Phaedra, before she turned around and started hurting her. 

 

_ “Be a good girl, turn for me.” _

 

She jumps into the water, willing it to wash all the feelings from her. It’s lukewarm and does nothing to satisfy her. She waits, letting it drench her completely, sticking her clothes to her frame. She should get out, look for something better. Except to do that she has to take off her soaking clothes and she can’t bear to look at herself naked. But her chest stings and part of he wants to, to see if the marks on her chest are bleeding, it feels like they might be except they can’t. They’re old, older than the brand between her thighs, older than the scar on her neck. 

 

_ “Why are you crying? I’m not going to hurt you.” _

 

“Please.” She whimpers, even though she’s not sure who’s she’s begging to. “Please make it stop.”

 

She sits there, on the floor of the shower, crying. She thinks of Phaedra, who would always shush away her tears, how gentle she was when she did it. It’s enough to make her ache, because no one had ever done that for her, not even her mother. Except, no one had ever hurt her like Phaedra either. 

 

It’s the endless battle that consumes her. That had prevented her from ever leaving, ever fighting against her. Phaedra had been home, until that night. 

 

_ Hands touching her. Hands grabbing at her. Laughter. _

 

“Make it stop.” She whimpers, shoving her head into her knees, suffocating against the wet fabric of her long shirt. She drags the sleeves up and sinks her nails into them. The pain flares up and she sinks into it, letting it consume her. Again and again she drags her nails, until angry red welts rise, until little dots of blood appear, stark against her paling skin.

 

She doesn’t want to do this anymore. 

 

_ “Don’t you trust me? I love you.” _

 

She’s sorry. 

 

_ “If you keep crying, I’ll give you something real to cry about.” _

 

Except she’s not. Not really.

 

_ “Say it back. Say it!” _

 

She killed Phaedra. She did. 

 

_ Blood. Hers. Always hers.  _

 

But Phaedra had spent years killing her, changing her to be someone else. 

 

_ “Don’t you love me? Why won’t you say it back?” _

 

Altheia killed her to save herself except there are times, like now, when she still hears Phaedra’s gentle whispers that she hates who that girl turned into. 

 

She sobs, clawing at herself. 

 

She wants it to end. 

 

_

 

Theophania can hear the shower running. She grins and taps the code to get into the room. It’s always so nice when she doesn’t have to force tributes to get up. It makes things so much easier, and really, like her mother always told her, early to bed and early to rise makes a woman healthy and wise. Theophania herself, despite her demanding schedule always tried to wake early. 

 

“Yoohoo! Altheia, I’ve got great news.” She shoves the bathroom door open and pauses.

 

Her lovely victor-to be is sitting on the shower floor completely dressed. Now, she’s seen lots of odd things in her days working with as an escort but this. This isn’t right. 

 

“Altheia?” She asks, tentatively moving closer. 

 

The girl does not respond, only continues staring blankly at the wall. As she nears her still body the hairs on the back of her neck rise and she feels goosebumps form on her arms. Chilled to the bone she steps into the huge stall and walks to turn of the water. Altheia’s huddled tightly and Theophania pauses. There is blood circling the drain. 

 

Face paling she drops to her knees in front of the trembling child, uncaring about her designer pant suit. Later, she’ll look at the stained fabric and chide herself, it was one of the last things Cinna had ever made. 

 

“Altheia, sweetheart?”

 

She reaches out, hands inches from her when the girl starts whimpering. 

 

“ _ Don’t _ .” It is the softest plea and Theophania’s heart breaks. 

 

She doesn’t know what to do. This  _ child  _ is obviously distressed, and she’s hurt. Her schooling tells her to force her up, to get her ready for training because  _ both  _ their lives depend on it but she can’t. She just can’t. She’s not equipped to deal with this and she feels herself being tugged back to the last tribute she tried to console.

 

Instead of Altheia sitting her in front of her with her black hair she sees a tiny, fairy of a child. With her brown doll eyes crying at her, begging her to do something. To send her home to her siblings. Except the only way Theophania got to send her home was in a box, dressed in the beautiful blue dress from the interviews and the flowers Twelve’s adorned her in. Theophania’s lip trembles as she tries to shove down her regret. She had done all she could for that one. Maybe she could help this one. 

“Stay right here.” 

 

She scrambles out of the bathroom, rushing to the door down the hall and knocking rather roughly. 

 

“Who the fuck--”

 

She doesn’t even flinch at the language, just sets her face into the most serious look she can muster. “It’s Altheia.”

 

His eyes widen and her surges past her, not even stopping to grab a shirt to dress himself in. “Did Theseus-?”   
  


“No. I went in and found her under the shower and well...look at her.” She wrings her hand nervously as he carefully moves towards their tribute. “I came to find you as soon as possible. I don’t know what to do. If I call a doctor the tabloids will know as soon as she gets checked out.”

 

They can’t have it getting out that she’s unwell. Even a mild cold would put off sponsors. They’ll be worried she has a bad immune system, that she’s sickly. She’ll die without support. She’s heard whispers.

 

“Get me a towel, a warm one.” He demands as he kneels before her.

 

He’s got the most worried look on his face and for a moment, she pauses. She’s never, not once seen Cato care for much of anything. She had hated him, with a fierce passion after he killed Twelve, the tribute she had settled for rooting for after her little one had died. Then during the Victory Tour, after his last escort had gotten fed up and she had stepped in she thought him a callous drunk, a failure of a victor. Her tribute would have been the most wonderful victor. But, now, watching him. She’s seeing a new side of him. A side of him that could make him redeemable to her. 

 

“Theophania! Now please!” He snaps. 

 

She whirls around, thoughts flying through her head. 

 

_

 

Cato hovers anxiously, unsure of what to do. Altheia has gone and disappeared somewhere inside herself, at what could possibly be the worst moment ever. She’s got exactly an hour to get her shit together and get downstairs and show everyone who’s going to win. 

 

Which seems almost impossible because she doesn’t even react as he throws the towel over her body. He snatches the second one Theophania had smartly brought and starts moving towards her when she flinches. He stops, remembering her only demand of him. He glances to the escort. “She asked me not to touch her.”

 

“Well, she told me don’t when I tried.” Theophania frowns, hands twisting into her hair anxiously.

 

“Altheia, if you can hear me, is it alright if I touch you?” Cato asks, leaning down to try and meet her gaze. For a moment he thinks he’s going to be fucked and have to send for a doctor, the horrible gossips that they are when it comes to tributes, when she gives him the smallest of nods. 

 

He sighs in relief and sets the towel into her hair, rubbing gently. She’s shaking horribly but has stopped crying so he asks Theophania to grab some more towels as well as dry clothes. He moves to dry the other parts of her he can reach when he spots her arms. They’re bleeding and he freezes. He clenches his teeth and sucks in a hissing breath. 

 

“Altheia, I’m going to touch your arms.” He warns.

 

She doesn’t reply at all and he takes it as confirmation that it’s okay so he gently picks up her wrist with his thumb and index finger, careful to limit his touch to her as much as possible. She’s absolutely freezing and he expects her to tense but instead she sighs and closes her eyes. He gently dabs the towel against the deep scratches, every so often glancing up to her face to gauge her reaction.

 

He’s never seen anyone this still, except maybe after the bloodbath at the cornucopia. Clove springs to his mind and he shuts his eyes for a moment. She had looked so cold, covered in the blood of the others. He can’t decide if Altheia looks like Clove now or if Clove had looked like Altheia does in this moment. 

 

“Cato, I’ve got the training outfit.” Theophania whispers behind him.

 

He nods, acknowledging her and switches to her other arm. Pretty soon they’re going to have to figure out what to do about this.

 

“Altheia, can you tell me what happened? Did someone hurt you?” He knows the only person who’s entered her room is Theophania, given by the alerts he gets to his room but he wants to make sure she feels secure and unjudged. 

 

Her eyes water and she blinks rapidly to stop them. “No.”

 

Cato raises an eyebrow and places the towel in her lap. “No you don’t want to tell me what happened or no, someone didn’t hurt you?”

 

“No.”

He sighs and looks over Altheia’s shoulder to Theophania, who looks just as lost as he feels. She motions for him to go on and he shuts his eyes tightly. He needs help, some kind of guidance. He’s most definitely not had enough sleep to deal with this and he feels drained. He wishes he could give her the day to recuperate but the Games don’t wait for anybody. 

 

“Altheia, do you think you can take these wet things off?”

 

Her blank expression breaks and her hands snap up to grasp at her clothes. “No!” Her terrified eyes dart from him to the walls and it’s obvious she’s searching for a way out. “Don’t take my clothes.” She cries. 

 

His mouth dry, he swallows. He meets Theophania’s eyes and he sees the same train of thought forming in her head. “Altheia, sweetie.” He hums, trying to sound as soothing as possible. “I don’t want you to get sick. I won’t even look.”

 

He’s offer to leave the room but he’s worried she’ll remain stuck, and maybe even fall back into the blank haze of before. Neither of them can afford that. Time’s running out and it feels like sand slipping through his fingers. 

 

There’s a shadow lurking in the corner. 

 

_ Fuck. _

 

“Altheia, I promise, I won’t look. I won’t touch.” He moves so all she can see his eyes and she inhales sharply. He hopes she can see the truth there, that he means his words completely. 

 

She takes several ragged breaths before she shakily nods. “Okay.” She says, meekly as she tightens her grip on her clothes. She darts her eyes to Theophania. “You both won’t look? Or touch?”

 

“No. We won’t. Not unless you slip and fall.” He adds, gesturing to the still wet floor.    
  


She takes in his words before moving to stand. Her legs are shaking so hard he hovers for a moment, worried she’ll collapse but her eyes harden and he starts seeing the Altheia he’s used to her returning. The escort already has her back to them so he turns, training his sight on the swirling mass of blackness. 

 

There is the sound of wet fabric unsticking from skin and he hears the loud plop of it as it smacks against the tiles. He starts to shift uncomfortably as she dresses because the shadow looks eerily like himself. The other him has his eyes trained on where Altheia is and he glares, willing it away. It disappears just as he hears a startled gasp. 

 

He whirls around and grabs her just as she starts to fall. She looks horrified and she tanks her shirt down desperately. He immediately rains his eyes on the ceiling and snaps at Theophania to keep her eyes away. 

 

“It’s fine. Go on.” He urges. “Use me to keep your balance.”

 

She shifts as she tightens her hold on his shoulder. He counts the lights in the ceiling and gets eight, which is perhaps too many to have in a room when she steps away, fully dressed. 

 

“Thank you.” She mumbles. 

His shoulders sag because for once, since this morning began, he’s starting to recognize Altheia. “Don’t worry about it.” 

 

Theophania is opening her mouth, and although he knows she means well he’s not willing to break the small bit of progress they’ve made just yet so he rushes to interrupt her. 

 

“Breakfast anyone?”

  
  


_

 

Altheia is piling on more food than he’s ever seen her eat. He’s settled for a shake this morning, stomach still rolling from last night’s alcohol and nightmares. Cato gives her a reassuring look when the door to Theseus’ room slams open. 

 

“What the fuck do you mean I’m not training today!” He hollers and Cato leans back to watch him enter, hand playing with the spreading knife. He may not have Clove’s skills but he can throw well enough to hit something blade in. 

 

Theophania’s changed now, and she looks over with the day. She’s got the pissiest face on and she sighs, pinching her nose. “The capitol citizens voted and, unfortunately, you were banned for the day. Guess they didn’t like what you did at the Tribute Parade.” She adds snidely as she reaches for a glass of water. 

 

“And just what is  _ that  _ supposed to mean?” He hisses, reaching to grab Theophania’s arm.

 

Cato grunts loudly, stabbing the knife into the table pointedly. Altheia winces and quickly rises. “I’m ready to go.”

 

He arches an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

 

“Wait, you’re training?” Theseus growls just as Enobaria waltzes in. 

“Yes, I made sure of that.” Cato steps forward, blocking Altheia from his view. He knows she’s not a hundred person right now and Theseus fucking with her head right now is the last thing they need. She’s got to turn this shit storm around right now if she has any chance of wrestling control of the Career pack from him. 

 

“Why am I not training then?” Theseus whirls around, stalking towards Enobaria who looks fed up with him.

 

“Because I was asleep.” She snaps her fingers and an Avox appears, handing her a tablet. She whistles. “Well damn, you done fucked up last night for sure. No one liked this.” 

 

She flips the tablet around and plays a mini-clip of him shoving Altheia. Which reminds Cato, he’s yet to punish the asshole for it. 

 

“You mean to tell me, that  **you** didn’t do a single damn thing to make sure I was training?” He stalks towards her, finger pointed into her face aggressively. “You stupid little bitch-”

 

As much as he and Enobaria don’t get along he bristles at his lack of respect. Faster than he can move to shove his fist into Theseus face Enobaria has him in her grasp. Her hand wrapped tightly around his offending hand. He cries out as she slowly tightens her grip, face impassive as she watches him bow beneath her grip.

 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” She says, voice frighteningly calm and even Cato feels a spark of unease as she slowly pulls her lips back to reveal her fangs. 

 

Theseus pales as he tries desperately to backtrack but it’s too late. 

 

“Enobaria.” Cato warns, because as much as he hates it, he can’t let her kill their tribute. They’d be in a world of trouble and Snow would have their heads. 

 

She sighs, deeply and fixes Cato with a bored look. “Relax, I’m not going to kill him. I’m just going to teach him a lesson.” She glares at the whimpering boy. “One he will never forget. Take your tribute and go.”

 

Cato considers sending her with Theophania, just so he can keep an eye on his partner but when he looks behind him Altheia has got the most worried look on her face and he knows that she needs him. 

 

“Alright. Theophania, stay. Make sure he has a pulse by the end of it.”

 

“Wait-! You can’t just leave me with her!”

 

Cato shrugs. “You’re not my tribute, sorry.”

 

Except he’s not sorry at all. 

  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much writer's block omgggg. I just wish I could skip ahead and only write the parts that I feel so strongly! Hope you enjoy this!


	9. Expert Mode

 

The elevator ride is tense beyond belief. Altheia feels embarrassed and a little at a loss for what to do. She feels better now, granted, but doesn’t know how this morning affects her relationship with Cato and Theophania. She’s sure he must have come to the conclusion that she’s weak, weaker than he thought.

 

She tugs on her sleeves. Altheia’s relieved that the training outfit included a jacket. There isn’t much that would hide the number she did on herself, and she knows that seeing anyone other than an Avox for them is out of the question.

 

Cato’s hand reaches out and slams on a button as they pass District One’s floor. The elevator jerks to a stop. Her hand automatically flies to her waistband but there is no knife there. This isn’t the Academy. She forces herself to look relaxed when he turns his gaze to her, hands swinging gently at her sides.

 

“I’m not gonna ask why it happened, so wipe that look of your face.”

 

She flinches.

 

“But I am going to ask you to not get to that point again. If you feel yourself getting like that, come find me.”

 

His eyes bore into her and she’s got a feeling she said something she wasn’t supposed to while she was disassociating. She can’t remember the conversation too well, only his blue eyes. She chews her lip.

 

“Why?”

 

“You don’t have the luxury of taking time to get back to yourself, so don’t go getting lost.” The elevator phone rings and Cato snatches it. “No we’re fine, just needed an extra moment. Yes, thank you.”

 

It restarts and they trickle their way down to the Training Center. Just before the door opens he speaks again. “Promise me. I don’t have time to be wasting on a tribute who can’t keep their shit together before the killing starts.”

 

She whirls around, anger burning through her. She moves so she’s just in front of his face, eyes ablaze. “I’ve got my shit handled. I don’t **_need_ ** you.” _I’ve been handling it for years on my own_ , she adds in her head. “It’s not like killing is even that hard.”

 

“That’s what you think now.” He says quietly, eyes searching her face.

 

She doesn’t have anything she can say to that, not without admitting to her crime. The doors open and she stalks out, rife with turmoil.  She’s fuming, she knows, and try as she might she can’t get her anger under control. She’s angry she was caught like that. Angry he had to help her back. Angry because she had just started thinking the nightmares were gone for good, that the only thing she’d have to worry about was dreaming about the Arena.

 

Her head is pounding, a rhythm of voices chanting:

 

_Tell him._

 

_Confess._

 

_DON’T._

 

_He’ll abandon you._

 

_He won’t._

 

_Tell him!_

 

_Murderer!_

 

It all overlaps and she shuts her eyes tightly, breathing through her nose trying to exhale all the negative energy like she was taught. It doesn’t work at all because unlike back home the air doesn't sting with mountain mist. Here it tastes like metal, bitter, with a touch of fear. Sucking in a harsh breath she  marches to her spot and stands there, back ramrod straight. It looks like she might have been the last one because the woman up front jumps into introductions almost immediately. Had she been calmer she would have taken note of who was here and who wasn’t but as it is, the only thing she could think about was Cato and the promise he wanted her to make.

 

She didn’t want to take it. Not at all. She’d rather fall off the deep end than depend on someone again. The last time she had trusted someone it ended with someone dead and a series of scars that would never leave her. She bites her cheek and tastes blood. They’re dismissed and she’s half ready to storm off and swing swords around when a sudden clarity takes hold.

 

The chart above her has little pictures of all of them and eyeing it she can see where everyone is to spend the day at. Her face is stuck to weapons but also sparring, and sparring is what she really wants to do. She clenches her fists and takes off for the station.

 

The trainer looked utterly bored but perks up as soon as he spots her. He’s tall, although slim, and as she gets closer she realizes he’s built like Theseus. Perfect. Her eyes dart to the throwing station and spots the Careers along with District Four. They shoot her curious looks as she steps into the ring.

 

“Experience level?” He asks, rolling his shoulders.

 

“Expert.” She calls, loud enough for them to hear her.

 

He double takes and scrutinizes her. She knows she doesn’t look very threatening at first glance. She’s a little on the taller side so she has some height to her but other than her eerie stillness (or so she’s been told) there’s not much you’d be afraid of early on. But, if you took the time to look, you’d notice that her stance is perfect, that her body doesn’t shake as it prepares itself to fight, and that she moves fast, too fast for any of the trainer’s first hits to land on her.

 

She avoids all of them like a dance. Ducking and twirling, teeth bared as she falls under the spell of a fight. To his credit, after the first three hits fail to get her the trainer stops pulling it and goes hard. There’s sweat building on his skin and she takes a moment to admire how excited he seems by her challenge. She isn’t even trying yet.

 

“Is that all you got?” She taunts, hands itching to tear into him. She wants to know he can take, wants to feel more than just the emotions. Her arms don’t even sting anymore.

 

His eyes narrow and the next punch that comes she takes. It crushes into her cheek roughly, forcing her face to the side.

 

He pauses. “You good?”

 

He grunts as she drives her elbow into his gut. He doubles over. “You good?” She mocks.

 

She’s not hitting the trainer anymore. She’s hitting Theseus. Blood comes too easy with the next hit. Hers. Split knuckles.

 

_My sister’s slut!_

 

She growls and slams her elbow into his neck relishing in the choked cough she earns.

 

Somewhere inside herself, she wonders when the act becomes real. Whether her snide remarks and smirks and enjoyment is a show for the Careers or if it’s really her.

 

Theseus punches at her head, nearly hitting her temple.

 

She kicks out, foot thumping against his ribs and he falls, scrambling to catch up with the flurry of moves she releases next.

 

A punch to the same spot.

 

A strike against his nose.

 

A sharp jab to his throat.

 

She sits on top of him, preventing him from rising up as he desperately tries to block her hits.

 

She loses herself in the fight, throwing her head back and letting out a screech as Theseus calls a time out, voice hoarse.

 

She’s still stuck in the haze of the fight, hands trailing up to grip his throat when she’s hauled away. She yanks herself away, turning to snarl but stops. It’s a Peacekeeper and in the shiny reflection of his helmet she can see herself. There’s blood smeared on her cheek and when she opens her mouth blood drips out. She looks like a monster.

 

The trainer, not Theseus, looks a mess of bruises and blood. His left eye is swollen.

 

Horrified, she snatches her hand away and turns, taking brisk steps to the nursing station, so she can get looked at. No one says a word and she becomes aware that everyone was watching the fight. Lace looks a little disturbed and turns away from her as she walks by. The rest of the tributes behave in much the same manner and it isn’t until she gets too close to one of the younger ones and they scramble to get away that it dawns on her that maybe she shouldn’t have sparred at all.

 

_“You look so beautiful when you fight. So wild.” A hand cups her face._

 

She grinds her teeth. The nurse looks a little at a loss, seeing as the trainer has been dragged away to go to the hospital, his injuries too severe for what she has on hand. The nurse gulps nervously and hands her a wet cloth and a mirror.

 

“You have a little…” She gestures to her face and Altheia nods, tense.

 

What a way to start training.

 

* * *

 

  


The rest of morning training she spends observing from the nurse’s station. The Careers keep shooting her looks as do the rest of the tributes, although with more fear than consideration. The Game Makers are no better, whispering and gesturing to her several times. It occurs to her that maybe they think she’s more injured that she let on and that she should rectify that quickly but now, without her anger or her fear, she feels drained. She wants for nothing more than to crawl into bed, although it’s entirely possible she’d be unable to fall asleep.

 

She hovers outside the doors as soon as it gets close to lunch and because of that, no one does the same. Even Lace waits until the doors are opened and she’s already stepping through to even leave her station. Altheia is not sure how to feel about that.

 

Lunch looks unappetizing but she picks some soup and a hunk of bread regardless of her lack of hunger. She can’t look like she’s affected. To soothe herself she picks tea to drink moving to the table at the back, carefully placing everyone in her view. It’s usually the Career’s table, she thinks, given the names and numbers carved into it. Now it’s hers.

 

She’s fully expecting no one to join her which is why she’s very surprised when Midas plops himself across from her, chattering a mile a minute.“-Tea, how unexpected. Do you like tea? What’s your favorite flavor? My aunt owns a tea shop, is this any good--”

 

She falters, cup splashing the table, and stares at him incredulously as he continues. She had fully expected for Midas to be quiet, just based on the impression she had received from him, both from the parade and the reaping. She wonders if it’s because he’s nervous, or if he really talks that much.

 

She can see Lace over his shoulder and she looks completely pissed, and yet, she too makes her way to the table. Before long, she finds herself surrounded by the Careers, even District Four is here. She eyes the volunteer curiously.

 

“Shut up!” Snaps Lace and Midas glowers. “Not everyone cares about your opinions on leaf water.”

 

“Actually, flowers can be used to make tea too.” She says before she can stop herself. Midas look thrilled at her point.

 

“Great. Another tea enthusiast. Goody!” Snarks Lace as she digs into her chicken salad, face scrunched into a scowl.

 

“The tea is passable.” She says quietly and takes another sip, unsure of how to handle the situation at hand. She hadn’t had any time to really think of how she would win over the Career Pack and she knows she might not get another chance. This was lucky enough as is.

 

She clears her throat. “You’re quite good with a spear.” She nods to Four’s female tribute, swishing her tea around to appear casual. “I’m Altheia, what’s your name.”

_Perfect. Undermine the hierarchy, focus on the bottom tier._

 

The girl tucks her head towards her body, and eyes her nervously. “Thank you. My name’s Arista.”

The boy shoots Arista a dark look. Altheia notices this along with the fact that the girl fails to shake her hand when she offers it. She shrugs and takes it back.

 

“You better hope your interview outfit is better than what they put you in for the parade. Sponsors hate repeat costumes.”

 

“Oh my gods! I know, they’re outfits were so ugly.” Cuts in Lace, who up until now had looked like she had bit into a raw onion. “The least that two-bit designer could have done was make silicon scales but now, she used sequins. Sequins!”

 

Altheia stares blankly at Lace as she continues to rant about how awful everyone’s costumes were, including, actually, her own. Bold words for someone who looked like a disco ball.   


Midas leans over to whisper in her ear. “Her family owns a fabric distribution warehouse. They provide a lot of the materials used for Capitol fashion.”

 

Oh.

 

Makes sense.

 

Altheia tries several times to strike up a conversation with the male from Four but he seems stubbornly resolved on not getting to know any of them. So far, she’s only learned that his name is Syrius, also from Midas. She wonders why he even bothered to join the Pack if he wasn’t going to be friendly but then her mind goes back to the reaping and she remembers the girl with the tears. He didn’t want to get attached, this was all pure strategy.

 

As she sipped the last of her tea she eyed him over the rim of her cup. He meets her eyes and for once, it’s like she’s met someone who’s on her level. Everyone here wants to win, obviously, but it’s like only them two have already come to terms that in order for that to happen, everyone has to die.

 

Midas is trying too hard to be likable and even shy Arista is in the same boat. Lace is more concerned with the fashion of all of this and all she talks about is the interviews. When she surveys the room she realizes it looks more like a summer camp for awkward socially inept teens. Everyone has bunched up into little groups and as she hears the younger kids burst into laughter her heart clenches.

 

Everyone here is going to die.

 

She looks back into Syrius’ eyes. He nods.

 

She understands.

 

* * *

 

 

“How was training?”

 

She hums as she pushes her peas around her plate.

 

“Altheia?”

 

She shrugs. “I think I went okay. I spoke to the Careers.”

 

Cato’s eyes light up and he leans forward. “How did it go?”

 

“Lace thinks that no one here knows how to use fabric correctly.” She wrinkles her nose and pushes her plate away.

 

“And?”

 

“Midas’ favorite tea is orange blossom.”

 

Cato glares. “Either you start taking these meetings serious or I leave you to struggle on your own.”

 

She huffs. “You keep saying that and yet, you’re still here.”

 

He arches an eyebrow. “Someone’s in a mood. Are you on your-”

 

“If you ask me if I’m on my period I will literally cut you.”

 

His mouth drops in surprise and for a moment she thinks she made a mistake by threatening him but he starts laughing, shaking his head at her. “So you do have a sense of humor.”

 

“I was serious.” She mumbled as he gets up.

 

“Let’s go, tribute.”

 

She follows him onto the balcony. She hears a door open and when she turns she sees Theseues. He’s covered in bruises and he has a weird limp as he walks by them, not even staring at them. Cato clicks his tongue.

 

“That temper of his will kill him. I should know, it almost killed me.”

 

She bites her lip as he shuts the glass doors. The air is cool and she’s thankful for the change in temperature. She sinks into the floor as the breeze plays with her nightdress, placing her head on her knees. Cato moves to lean his back on the railing, highlighted by the city in the back. Say what you will about the Capitol but it’s appeal lies in how different it looks from everything, even in District Two there’s a curfew most nights but the Capitol never sleeps.

 

“So, I heard that a trainer was sent to the hospital this morning. Rumors have it that it was a female tribute that put him there.” He smirks. “You wouldn’t happen to know something about this would you?”

 

Altheia bites her lip to try and hide her guilty grin. She’s a little proud that she tore through him like that but still, she’s concerned about how quickly she lost herself to it all. It was like the entire room had faded away and all that she felt was a body breaking under her.

 

“Cato…” She hesitates and his expression shifts, falling back into the blank slate he usually uses. “How do you control it? The blood lust?”

 

He nods, taking in her question as he deliberates it. “Is that what happened?”

 

She looks to the side. “Yes.”

 

“Well what I’m going to tell you goes against everything they teach you back home but you need an anchor. Something to keep you grounded, so that all of those emotions don’t overwhelm you.”

 

“Who’s your anchor?”

 

He pauses, and his eyes take a distant look. She waits, stuck on the edge of her question, worried that maybe he’s falling off the cliff of it.

 

“Cato?”

 

He blinks, inhaling sharply. “Yes?”

 

“How do I find an anchor?” She tries, hoping the different question will work better.

 

“I don’t know. Just think. Don’t you have anyone back home?”

 

She shakes her head. Her mother and father hadn’t even tried to send her a letter through Cato, something they surely would have been able to do with the money her family had. To them, she’s as good as dead, of that she’s positive. She was above average in only two things at the Academy and that was sparring and her swords, and neither of those came naturally to her.

 

“Right. Well, you’ll think of someone. Or something, it isn’t always another person. I know that Brutus’ anchor is his garden.”

 

“He has a garden?” Surprised, she sits up.

 

“Yes but don’t tell him I said that.”

 

“I doubt I’d get the chance.”

 

“You will. I’ll make sure of it.” His eyes burned into her and she squirmed uncomfortably. “Hey, come with me. I’m going to take you somewhere.”

 

She blinks as he thrusts a hand into her face. “Where are you taking me?”

 

“Just trust me.”

 

She eyes it warily and he sighs.

 

“If I’m going to be your mentor you need to trust me.”

 

“You keep threatening to ditch me, how am I supposed to trust you.”

 

He squints his eyes, taking her words into consideration. “Okay, how about this.” Suddenly, there’s a knife and before she can move out of the way he’s latched onto her hand.

 

“What are you doing!”

 

“Relax.” He slices a thin line on her pinkie and mimics it on his own hand. “You act like you’ve never done a blood bind.”

 

At her blank expression he laughs incredulously. “You’re kidding? I did these all the time growing up. I promised my little sister I’d win and I promised…” He trails off, looking past her for a moment before he shakes his head.

 

“This seems awfully barbaric.” She snipes, as he smears their blood together before wrapping their pinkies together. “What if someone has a blood sickness.”

 

He scoffs. “Most of those take years to kill you, not important when you’re in the Academy. Now shut up.” He shakes off their banter and closes his eyes for a moment, like he’s preparing for a ritual. When his eyes open, it’s like she’s staring into the very soul of the ocean. This must be what Amphrite had felt like when she married Poseidon.

 

“I vow to mentor you, regardless of what you say or do from this point on. You’re mine to lead and guide and I vow to never lead you astray.” His gaze is locked on hers as he speaks and she swears she feels magic tying them together.

 

Her heart jumps into her throat at his words and for a moment, a sheer moment she considers coming clean. If this was as binding as she thinks it is, then he wouldn’t be able to back out. She could confess, and take this weight off her chest. She hadn’t revealed what she had done to anyone, hadn’t even allowed herself to acknowledge out loud the sin she had committed.

 

“This is supposed to be where you say your part.” He whispers.

 

Altheia takes a moment to think of her words, realizing how serious this was for him. “I...I vow to be your student, to trust you to lead and guide me. To trust that you will never lead me astray.” She feels as if she’s staring into an ocean. “I vow to win.”

 

He grins, nearly blinding her with the radiance of it. “Perfect.” He breaths, eyes sparkling. Then he pulls away and sticks his finger into his mouth. Unsure of whether it was part of the ritual she follows, sheepishly licking away the blood. Their blood.

 

“Now, let me show you.”

 

She takes his hand without hesitance, letting him lift her. Instead of the elevator they head to a wall. He starts knocking, ear pressed against the wall.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Hush student, let your teacher work.”

 

She sighs but quiets.

 

“Ah! This is it.”

 

And to her surprise, the wall slides away as soon as he sinks his hand into one of the wallpaper’s swirls. A strange sense of excitement curls in her chest and she pinches herself to tame her excitement. She casts a look around and finds the living area void of life. As evidenced by the bucket half filled with ice she assumes Cato had waited until Theseus had retreated back to his cave before showing this.

 

“Does anyone else know about this?”

 

“No. I found it one night, before my Games, when I couldn’t sleep. I was going to show Cl…” He trails off.

 

Her heart grows heavy watching him as he takes a moment to collect himself. It’s clear that Cato missed his tribute partner. She’s sure that there was more to them, they had trained together the year before the Games started and they had seemed to be close before then. At least, she thinks so. She wants to ask but doesn’t think it’s something she should pry into.

 

She can’t imagine how hard it would be to go in with a friend, especially with the exception they had built in, and not come out with them. Altheia is not sure she could have taken it, although maybe she shouldn’t be making such assumptions. She doesn’t pretend to know or understand Cato, every time they talk it seems like he’s a little different than the time before. She’s not sure if she’s getting closer or further away from the truth of him. She wonders if she ever will.

 

There’s a tunnel inside the wall, barely big enough for Cato to walk through. “Where does it lead?” She asks.

 

He gives her a mischievous look, eyes twinkling. “It’s a surprise.” He steps in, turning to look over his shoulder at her.

 

“It looks dark.” She calls, hands moving to grasp her sleeves as she toes the ground.

 

She’d have to rely on him entirely. To trust him to lead her through it and to not leave her behind. An exercise of how far she’s willing to follow him, both literally and figuratively. Doing this, going in that tunnel, she’s putting herself in his hands, completely reliant. Can she do that?

 

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little darkness?”

 

She raises her chin and stares him dead in the face “I’m not scared of anything.”

 

He tilts his head towards her, like she did exactly what he expected her to do. “Well then, put your trust in me and let me lead.”

 

His vow. It’s binding. He wouldn’t lead her astray. A vow is not a regular promise, she reminds herself.

 

She steps in and the panel slides shut, forcing them to rely on the tight confines to lead them. Suddenly, she’s thankful of the tight space. Cato moves faster than she thinks he would and she reaches out, grasping the back of his shirt tightly, afraid to lose him.

 

“Don’t leave me.” She bites out as she stumbles around blindly.

 

“Trust me. I’m right here.” Without his face to confuse her she realizes how soft his voice is. Deep too, and for some reason, it reminds her of a river wearing away stone.

 

Does that make her the stone?  


“I’m trusting you.”

 

“Good.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had some more writer's block with this one but hopefully came out okay. I'm not really sure if Cato feels in character at all but I didn't want to keep putting it off. Hope you enjoy, please give me you thoughts so I can be aware of whether I'm heading in the right direction or if I need to pull the plug and start over again.


	10. Dandelions for the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short Chapter but the plot thickens.

“What do you think?”

 

Mouth drying, Altheia turns slowly, taking in the cavernous room. Bookshelves lie against the walls and there seems to be mementos everywhere. 

 

“What is this place?”

 

Cato shrugs. “Not sure, but there’s something here for all of them.”

 

“Them?”

 

“Every tribute.”

 

She twists around to stare at him, wondering why he would show her this place. 

 

“Each book, holds a name, a picture, and their last words. Their  _ real  _ last words as them from the Games. Some of them are jokes.”

 

She reaches out tentatively and grasps a book. “Who does this?”

 

He shrugs. “I don't know, but they have last year’s Games.”

 

She notices how he distances himself from it. Not  _ his  _ Games. She slips the book open, it smells like old parchment but when she opens it she sees that the paper in it is not normal. It’s strong, almost like cloth.

 

_ First Hunger Games _

 

_ District One _

 

_ Octavia Clarke _

 

_ Age: 16 _

 

_ “I have a sister who’s having a baby. I hope I get to meet them.” _

 

_ Remus Horne _

 

_ Age: 14 _

 

_ “You know, wherever you are, if you’re even watching, I’m absolutely in love with you Antonia Lemis.” _

 

Eyes watering, she sets down the book back on the shelf gingerly. All of them, like her, with their own story. “Did you...did you read all of these?”

 

He nods. “I spent a lot of nights not sleeping. Before and after. This room exists in between floors, I checked. On the other side of that wall is a maintenance room.” He adds. 

 

Altheia trails her hands down the books until she reaches the last one. She sees his jaw clench but he doesn’t stop her so she opens it. She decides to work her way backwards and her eyes mist as she reads Peeta’s last words:

 

_ “Katniss. It’s okay.” _

 

“They really did love each other…”She thumbs his picture. She wishes she could feel love like that, she remembers watching their interviews, to learn how to be liked by the Capitol. Everyone groaned and called his bluff, but he was real. She could tell. He was real until the end. Could she be real? Until the very end? 

 

“I don’t think she loved him. Not yet.”

 

She looks up, to Cato’s pained expression as he hovers over the door, unsure of what to do with himself. 

 

She shakes her head. “Her last word was his name.”

 

Cato looks to the side, grimacing. “Not according to the book.”

 

She moves on, carefully pausing at each person’s picture. She wonders if there will be a book with her last words soon. She wonders if they will be her last words,  _ ever _ . 

 

The little girl from Eleven’s last words were to Katniss. Her heart clenches, she thinks of how it was her first year. How she shouldn’t have been picked. Back home, only the best go, there’s always a volunteer lined up, just in case whomever gets reaped (if it’s not the stereotypical Senior Volunteer year like with Cato) can be saved. Saved. More like exchanged. A ransom. 

 

She’s crying by the time she comes across the boy from Three’s last words. The boy who’s neck Cato snapped.

 

_  “It’s simple chemistry. Explosions, well they’re amazing. If I was ever going to choose how I’ll go, it’ll be in an explosion...why? Well because, it takes all of you, and burns you up. I read a book once, were people traveled using explosive devices. I hope to travel somewhere else. Somewhere brighter.” _

 

“He was smarter than I gave him credit for. Sometimes I think...it doesn’t matter.” Cato’s looking over her shoulder by now, body shaking as she turns the page. His picture is there, and so is his partner. He tears himself away and marches to sit on a cushion on the floor, hands pressing into his eyes.

 

“I don’t have to read it Cato. I could shut it and we could leave-”

 

“No! I want you to. It’s important that you do. You need to understand, what the Academy says-” He flinches and curls into himself.

 

 She’s suddenly overcome with the realization that Cato is only nineteen. He’s not much older than her at all and yet, he’s killed at least half of the people whose last words she had just read. He killed Katniss and Peeta. He killed Three, who’s real name is Byte. But, like her, at the end of it all, once the blood lust wore off and reality set in, he realized his mistake. His sin. Life wasn’t for man to decide what to do with. 

 

She turns away, hiding her expression as she puts away the book. “No. You’re not ready to show me this.” She bends down in front of him, taking his hand. “Come on teacher, I see a door there. Show me where it leads.”

 

His lips quirked into a smile as he regards her open hand. 

 

He takes it, hand warm in hers. 

 

The door has got something written in it in a dead language and she eyes it curiously.

 

“What does it say?”   
  


“Who knows.”

 

She shakes her head. “One would think you would have figured it out.”

 

“Well, considering I was busy before and after…”

 

Right. Cato the tribute, Cato the drunk. 

 

The door opens without much fuss, not even a lock. The person who runs all this must not be very concerned about break ins. Although, maybe only Cato has discovered this. It can only be discovered by going behind the walls, after all. 

 

“Flowers?” She asks, surprised. 

 

“Yeah. Look. One for all of us.” Us. One day, her?

 

They stop and she bends down. This flower is for the boy, Remus. A daffodil. For the girl he loved. She strokes it’s small form softly and wishes she was religious. She can’t imagine that there’s a life after death, that there’s something after all this. Part of her wants to hope there is, but what God or Gods would allow for this to happen? Maybe the Gods celebrated in Two would, war-hungry as they are. Even mighty wise Athena, falls prey to it. 

 

Cato tugs her along, until they stop at a pot with Clove’s name on it. His partner. She doesn’t recognize this flower. 

 

“It’s an  alstroemeria.” At her look, “my mother...she does gardening.”

 

She nods. He doesn’t move them past her pot, just reaches down and taps it. “She hated pink. Or, that’s what she wanted everyone to think. She tried so hard to just be Killer Clove. You know, she um...she was scared of heights. That’s why I climbed the tree, even though she was the smallest. I couldn’t let the sponsors know.”

 

He sniffs loudly, drags his arm across his nose. “The book...it got her last words, whatever they thought was important. She um, she could always tell the future. Clove could always tell when the cafeteria was serving chicken nuggets, the ones shaped like weapons. Usually they were for the kids, the little ones to remind them of home but um...no one could stop her from eating them.”

 

Cato’s baring himself to her. She realizes. He’s showing all of this to her, willingly. He was willing to show her his last words and now, he’s telling her about Clove. 

 

“I couldn’t read them. I couldn’t look. I...she died screaming my name. What if that’s what’s in there-”

 

“I’m pretty sure they picked whatever encompassed them. Or whatever stuck with them the most, they wouldn’t have picked her screaming.”

 

“Katniss’ is her screaming.” He says, voice angry. 

 

She can see that they won’t get anywhere with this. She moves, and pokes at the next pot. His name is on it. “What’s this one.”

 

“Asphodel. It stands for regret.” She can feel the coldness in him growing.

 

“It’s pretty.” She tries to salvage the moment. She’s never been any good at talking. She grew up alone. 

 

“I don’t regret showing you this.” He plucks one of the three, and it looks comically tiny in his hand. 

 

Altheia opens her hand, expecting him to drop it in her hand, instead he moves her hair and gently places it in her hair. 

 

“There, pretty.” He whispers as he lets go. 

 

She stares into his eyes, lips parting. He raises an eyebrow at her. 

 

Suddenly anxious she points at a random flower. “What’s this one, what does it mean?”

 

He grins. 

* * *

 

 

  
They didn’t get back to their rooms until it’s late, so late, that the entire apartment is pitch black when they return. 

 

Altheia snorts as Cato trips and curses over a stubbed toe.

 

“Years at the Academy and this is what breaks you” She snarks.

 

“Oh shut up before I teach you a thing or two.”

 

Suddenly, they’re standing in front of her door. Altheia nervously tucks her hair behind her ears, hand pausing on the flower in her hair. 

 

This is the closest she’s ever come to date, she realizes. 

 

She blushes, heart pounding as she plays with her doorknob. 

 

“Thank you, for showing me.”

 

“I figured it was something you’d like to see. Someone out there will always remember us. I think that a lot of them worry...worried that they’d be forgotten. You won’t be forgotten.” He pauses, clearing his throat. “I wouldn’t forget you, even without the book. Especially since you’re coming back.”

 

Before she can reply he takes off down the hall to his door and snaps it shut tightly. Heart warm she places her palm on the recognition pad after staring dazedly at his door for a moment too long. 

 

Cato isn’t who she thought he was. Not at all.

 

And now...

 

She has his vow.

 

* * *

 

 

_ There is blood on her.  _

 

_ Seeping into her skin.  _

 

_ Not hers? _

 

_ Rain hails sideways, stealing any hope she has of remaining dry underneath the lip of a cave. _

_  It soaks her to the bone, and instead of feeling chilled there is fire. It sears into her, blinding white hot pain taking over everything.  _

 

_ “Somebody please! Help me!” _

 

_ No help comes.  _

 

_ She’s alone. _

 

She blinks, rubbing at her chest to chase away the nightmare that won’t go away. It haunted her through breakfast and getting ready, even through the elevator ride where she remained stubbornly quiet despite Theseus jeers. It was like he had never been punished, bruises hidden under makeup and attitude back on blast.There is a reason everyone preferred his sister, why everyone expected her to beat him when they volunteered. Except that never happened. 

 

And no one is more furious about that than him. Theseus' eyes are glaring into her back from the fire building station. A fact that nearly caused a scene. Enobaria had neglected to mention he had been banned from any combat or weaponry. Clearly, the odds are not in his favor. 

 

She plays around with the knife in her hand. Midas and her are playing a game, even though the rest of the Careers are ignoring her now under the watchful eye of their leader. 

 

“If you hit the throat, I’ll take a dare.” Midas offers, twirling the tip of his knife on the floor. 

 

She considers the offer, she’s already asked lots of questions, mostly about how District One is. She didn’t want to learn more about him, too worried she’d get attached to Midas. It would have been easy, he was so likable. She knew too much as is. He had a younger sister. He had never been kissed. He loved painting, but only if he made the paint himself, the natural way. 

 

Too much.

 

Too human.

 

Cato had been right in telling her to be unapproachable this morning. 

 

“Deal.” She throws the knife, letting it fly off her fingers. It sinks to the hilt in the dummy and Lace tosses her hair behind her head as she snatches it. Midas whistles. 

 

“Wrong dummy.” Lace hisses loudly at her. 

 

Altheia shrugs. “I dare you to be my secret ally.” 

 

Midas, startled, lets his knife clang against the floor loudly. “What?” He whispers in the same quiet tone she had used.

 

“You and me, final two. The rest of them won't come around and Theseus, he’ll kill all of you before he gets to me.” She throws another, careful to make it seem like they’re still talking about home and not about death.She holds up a hand to stop his comment when Syrius walks by. He doesn’t even spare them a glance. 

 

“How do you know that?” Midas says once he’s left them.

 

Altheia bites her lip. “I was friends with his sister.”

 

The next knife that leaves her hands embeds itself in between the eyes. 

 

Midas remains silent for a moment and just as Altheia begins to think she’s ruined her chances he nods. 

 

“Deal.”


	11. May the Truth Release You

Today is the last day for training and she’s not even allowed to go. 

 

Sighing, she moves through the stretches, ignoring Theseus who’s prancing around at the news. 

 

“Looks like the citizens have finally come to their senses.” 

 

She rolls her eyes, dipping down to touch her toes for a moment. When she gets up, she glances in the mirror and meets Cato’s eyes. She hopes he won’t let her day go to waste. She’s more than prepared for the killing and the surviving, or at least as prepared as she’s going to get but the interview is tomorrow and she doesn’t know what she’s going to say.

 

Theseus spends the next fifteen minutes gloating in various ways until finally Enobaria snaps. 

 

“Did you forget that you’ve also only gotten two days? And she’s been requested for something else, much better for her than more time tossing around her ego like some other hand-around-their-dick-fuckwad I know.”

 

Well holy shit. 

 

Eyes wide, she angles her head to take in his reaction, fully ready to watch him lunge for Enobaria whose back was turned to him as she flipped through a magazine.

 

He flexes his hands and she sees his eyes darken as he steps closer. Then it’s like he’s hit a wall because the cloud over his eyes disappears and he takes a deep breath. It’s startling to watch because it’s eerily similar to the technique his sister used to calm down in public settings. Except, well, minus the blinding smile. 

 

She’s almost disappointed as he turns on his heel and heads straight to the elevator. Any injuries to him would be an advantage to her in the long run and the more Enobaria grew to despise him the better. Enobaria may not be rooting for her at all but it would be better if she was also not championing Theseus as her killer to be. 

 

“Oh thank fuck,” Enobaria groans, “if I had to hear him for another minute go on I would have cut off his tongue.”

 

“Enobaria.”

 

“What?” She exclaims. “He can still fight without a tongue.”

 

Cato shakes his head before snapping his fingers at her. “Today we’re doing a simulation. Later, you have that photoshoot everyone wants you to do.”

 

“Is anyone else doing it?”

 

“One’s Male and Female, Four’s Male….Those are the important ones. I think Seven’s Male?” He shrugs. “I stopped looking after Four.” 

 

“And the simulation?”

 

“It’s a gift from the Gamemakers, a chance to feel combat without being in real danger. Apparently everyone’s doing it in training to see the odds of fight or flight instinct yada yada.The email was written by an idiot who spoke more computer than human.”

 

Altheia raised her eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“Who knows. You’re up in thirty minutes so hurry up and quit with the yoga and eat.”

 

Everything makes her stomach turn, too queasy after another full night of nightmares and so she grabs a bunch of fruit and turns to an Avox who’s standing by the wall silently. She wonders if they trained to do that. They must have. They stand so silently, so unmoving, that it’s almost too easy to forget they’re there. More like living sculptures than people. She’s noticed that they don’t move from their spot unless directed and that they never take breaks. Just that suddenly, after some time, you notice that they’ve been replaced by someone who looked exactly like the one before except not quite. 

 

A different sort of punishment for disobeying the Capitol. 

 

She gets reaped and they get their tongue ripped out.

 

 Both slaves. 

 

How dark. 

 

“Smoothie.” 

 

The Avox nods. She doesn’t even hear the blender before they appear back in front of her with a cup. She wants to say thank you but that would be pointlessly dangerous. An Avox is a traitor. Traitors don’t get pleasantries. Years of drilled lesson let her wash down the guilt with the first sip. 

 

It tastes delicious. 

 

* * *

 

 

The simulation is somehow connected to a helmet. It’s also apparently very realistic. She’s just caught the tail end of Lace’s go at it and she looks positively wretched as she screams. There are mentors mingling on a balcony across from the one that holds Gamemakers and all of them are watching. 

 

“What’s going on?” She siddles up next to Midas who looks slightly green as he watches.

 

“Lace is terrified of the dark. She’s stuck underground.” 

 

Another scream. 

 

“And there are snakes, I think.”

 

She frowns. “I thought these were combat simulations?”

 

“We don’t always fight tributes, sometimes it’s mutts.”

 

“Right. What did you fight?”

 

He looks to the side. “It was just a girl at first, the simulation it changes, adapts to your fears ...then I was...fighting my little sister.”

 

“Gods that’s...that’s screwed up.” She whispers as people flock to Lace, her simulation over.

 

Midas shrugs, puffing out his chest. “No biggie. I killed her.” 

 

Mouth dry, she studies him. He’s putting on as confident an air as he can muster but his eyes are slightly red and his hands are shaking despite the tight fists he has them clenched in. 

 

“Midas…” She reaches out.

 

“Don’t.” Harshly, hand ripping out of her grasp. Then, much softer, “don’t,”

 

She nods.

 

“Good luck Altheia.” His solemn eyes follow her as she’s led up onto the contraption. 

 

There are spotlights on her and she winces as the brightness blinds her for a second. At least it blocks everyone from view. The attendant is explaining the concept to her and she nods along despite the fact that literally nothing is making any sense. It’s only once her feet are locked on that she begins to worry. 

 

Panicked she looks for reassurance. The straps are tightened and her mind tries desperately to remind her of a memory best left forgotten as the room starts to spin. 

 

_ ‘Please don’t pass out.’ _

 

Wild eyed she jerks out of the grasp of the attendant but she’s caught, horrifically caught as the helmet is placed on her head. Pin pricks of needles are inserted into her eyes and she cries out painfully as everything fades away.

 

_ “Altheia!” _

 

_ She gasps, harsh mountain air sinking into her skin as she runs. Her feet slap against the puddles and sliding in the mud.  _

 

_ “Altheia! If you come out now I promise I won’t hurt you.” _

 

_ “Liar.” She pants, launching herself into the hole she made so long ago under the roots of the tallest tree in the forest surrounding the Academy. It’s hard at first, to wiggle in, last night’s rain had washed the mud back in and covered the perfect hideaway. Ultimately, it’s the rain, which she loves so much, that gets her caught.  _

 

_ A hand snatches on to her ankle and hauls her out. She screams out in frustration, clawing at the roots, at the ground, anything to keep her body hidden but it’s too late.  _

 

_ “Altheia, little bird, why do you hide from me?” Phaedra coos, running a hand up her leg. “Why do you not accept my proposal?” _

 

_ She kicks out, booted foot catching her rib. “I won’t marry you!” She shouts. _

 

_ Phaedra’s eyes darken and she pauses, drawing in all the awful chaos and suddenly, she feels like a rabbit caught in the hold of a snake. This Phaedra is worse, so much worse.  _

 

_ “No?” _

 

_ Lip trembling she shakes her head.  _

 

_ She doesn’t even get a chance to realize what’s happening before her ankle is being grabbed and twisted the wrong way.  _

 

_ Her scream echoes, raw and primal. _

 

_ Phaedra gets up and turns and in this moment Altheia knows. She can’t let her walk away. That if she walks away Altheia will die.  _

_ She swallows the pain, shoves it down deep in the pit of her stomach the way the Academy had lectured to her, the way Phaedra had shown her. She rises and reaches back, to the scabbards of her twin swords. She hasn’t fought Phaedra with them in a year, too terrified of beating her. The temptation of having her tormentor's life at the edge of her swords too great to resist. _

 

_ The rain gives her away, pouring down on her frame and she slips seconds before the sword penetrates her skin. Phaedra whirls around, hands flying to block the hit. _

 

_ “Oh.” Her eyes narrow and a maniac smile takes hold. “ _ **_Oh_ ** .  _ It’s come to this I see. Betrayal.” _

 

_ “It’s not like that.” She pants, yanking her blade away. She steps back and Phaedra pulls out her own. It is with deep regret that she notes how their blades are identical. Twins of twins. Phaedra is the reason she has real weapons. Phaedra is the reason she can fight with them. Phaedra is the reason Altheia has to kill her.  _

 

_ Her teacher. Her tormentor. Her first friend. Her bully. Her first kiss. Her abuser.  _

 

_ Altheia dodges the next blow, flying to the side. Phaedra is strength, relentless pursuit. Altheia is speed, endurance.  _

 

_ Blow after blow. A stab to her shoulder wrenches a sharp cry as she flips, dragging her body across the dirt. Anyone else in the Academy would have finished her already, efficiently. Not Phaedra, Phaedra views killing like it’s an art. Flashes of animal skulls and body parts fly past her brain.  _

 

_ ‘I won’t be another trophy.’ _

 

_ She gets up again, face grim as she hobbles on her good foot. Her range is limited and yet, she pushes on. Phaedra laughing gleefully, complimenting her progress, even now. _

 

_ “Your stance is much better! Your pain tolerance! Oh little bird you were always my best work.” _

 

_ The swords crash against each other, blood mixing with the rain feeding the earth with their fight. In another time, the war gods would have woken and chosen a winner. Instead, Altheia must choose. _

 

_ Phaedra is getting sloppy. Sword swinging wildly as she blindly pushes on, following Altheia’s fleeing.  _

 

_ “I never wanted this!” She says pleadingly. “If you just let me go-” She cuts herself off with a cry of alarm. _

 

_ “Go where? You’re  _ **_mine_ ** _.” Phaedra licks the blood of her blade, having nicked Altheia’s face. _

 

_ She bites her lip. There’s an opening. In a flash of darkness accompanied by thunder she disarms Phaedra and shoves her to her knees. She has her weapons aimed at her, one behind her preventing her from running away, the other hovering inches from her heart.  _

 

_ “Please.” She begs because even now she can’t. _

 

_  She’s terrified of her life before Phaedra, of the constant fear at the hands of others. Of the days spent eating alone, of hiding from the hunting groups during group activities. But letting her live means marrying Phaedra, no other person would dare argue against her claim. Of living her life playing a constant game of failing to meet unachievable expectations and being roped into punishments she just barely survived. _

 

_ “I don’t want to kill you.” _

 

_ “You’re not a killer.” _

 

_ “I could be.” Her hands tremble. _

 

_ Phaedra laughs. “I made you everything you are. You’re not a killer, you’re barley an Academy cadet. “ She motions to the weapons. “You wield those swords because of me, you live because of me.” _

 

_ “I could be a killer.” She repeats, steadily losing her resolve. _

 

_ “Go on then, do it.”After a moment, she tuts. She stands slowly, grabbing her hand and rubbing at it softly. “Let’s go home Altheia. I love you okay? You can take a nice hot bath once we get back.” She whispers these words into her ear, delicately. “Thirty lashes for embarrassing me like that in front of everyone.” _

 

_ Phaedra’s hand tightens around the sword in front of her. She should have been paying attention to the one behind her. Altheia screams, driving it in to her. She falls with the body pulling away to watch the light go from Phaedra’s eyes.  _

 

_ “Altheia?” Tears slide down her face and she grasps at the wound, bloody hand coming up to hover between their faces. “I-” _

 

_ “You were wrong about me.” She whispers.  _

 

Blinding light, ragged breaths. 

 

She comes out screaming, panicked, halfway caught between a memory and a simulation. Her hands feel like they’re covered in blood and terrified of it she turns on the attendant releasing her feet. She grabs them, wrapping her arms around their neck and squeezing tightly as she yanks her feet free. 

 

“Woah someone get a tranquilizer!”

 

“Altheia stop!”

 

“District Two please cease from--”

 

An alarm blares as the attendant starts to still in her arms and she whirls around, delirious, There’s blood all over her. These people know. They all know. They know the truth. 

 

“Altheia.”

 

Blue eyes. 

 

She stills. They encompass her entire vision and suddenly it’s like all of it disappears. “They know.” She whispers, voice sounding entirely childish.

 

“No they dont-I...will you please drop the body?”

 

“Body?” Her body tightens. 

 

She dumped the body in a mine shaft. 

 

Or?

 

Is she about to dump the body?

 

She cradles the body closer, eyes still seeing  _ her  _ despite the fact that the height and build is all wrong. Too delicate. 

 

“Altheia...shh. Come on, please.”

 

She feels like she can trust this person and slowly she lets the body go, hearing it thump against the ground. “The mine shaft. Put it in the mine shaft.” She whispers, eyes boring into him. 

 

“Mine shaft.Yes, perfect spot for it.” He soothes as he reaches out for her. “Do you want to wash off the blood now?”

 

“Blood?”

“You were screaming about it.”

 

She nods and takes his hand. It’s perfect. Rough and so much bigger than hers. A man’s hand. 

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll bring her back to the shoot. Just drop her to the bottom of the list.”

 

She tilts her head at everybody, finding that she’s not in the forest like she thought. Everything's cold and clinical. Her eyes track back to the body on the floor but the man is guiding her through a set of double doors before she can really look at it. 

 

 

* * *

  
  
  
  


“What happened?”   
  


Altheia is back now. She’s tucked into her bed with several extra blankets Theophania had brought her and she wishes she could burrow into them and cease to exist. She’s absolutely positive someone’s leaked her meltdown and that she’s lost all hope of sponsorship. 

 

“Hey! Look at me.”

 

She turns, glaring at Cato who’s continued to hound her despite her obvious desire to be left alone.

 

He glares back. “How the hell am I supposed to help if you don’t tell me what happened.”

 

She stands suddenly, shoving everything on her to the floor and marches to the bathroom, away from his judging eyes. She snatches his jacket and tosses it to him. “Get out.” She points to her door. 

 

He shakes his head. “Not until you tell me what happened-”

 

“Why do I even have to?! You saw it!”

 

He rubs at his face gruffly. “No I didnt! None of the mentors had access to the video feed, hell an inside source Enobaria talked to said the video feed was grainy at best!”

 

The words are like a bucket of water dousing the rage inside her and it causes her to pause. “No one...saw?” She asks tentatively.

 

“No. And even if they did, most of it is manufactured anyway, chemicals just finding whatever memory has the most emotion attached to it and turning it into a combat scenario.

 

Altheia sags against the bed’s edge, hesitantly grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around herself. 

 

**_“I vow to mentor you, regardless of what you say or do from this point on. You’re mine to lead and guide and I vow to never lead you astray.” His gaze is locked on hers as he speaks and she swears she feels magic tying them together._ **

 

“What did you see?”

 

She inhales, suddenly wishing for a cigarette or a drink. Both were forbidden at the Academy but so many of the older kids seemed to have them it was like they were sold at the canteen. How desirable it would be to numb whatever she was feeling until it hardly mattered anymore. 

 

“I killed someone.”

 

“So?” Was his immediate response. “It was a simulation.”

 

She shakes her head. “No.” She turns, looking deep into his eyes so he would find the truth in hers. “I  **killed** someone Cato.”

 

She looks away as soon as she knows it’s sunk in and curls into herself. She prays he will not leave her, that his vow would keep him tied to her. She couldn’t bare it to go through these next few days alone. Completely abandoned by all those in her life.

 

He nods. “Okay.”

 

“Okay?”

 

“Well it’d be hypocritical of me to judge...I killed lots of people to be here next to you Altheia.”

 

His face is completely dead to her, a total shield for whatever his thoughts are and she flounders for a moment, wondering if she should continue.

 

“I-I didn’t want to but I-”   
  


He raises his hand, stopping her. “You did what you had to to survive.”

 

She nods, tucking her head into her body as she trembles. 

 

“I’ve never said it out loud.”

 

His eyes are calculating as he takes her in.

 

She wonders if he’s looking for evidence. Or if he’s looking for guilt, of which she has plenty, or pleasure, of which she has very little of. She felt a great many things once Phaedra was dead, none of which were anything more than startling relief. Most were dark oppressing things that made the next several months unbearable. She had just started to feel better when the Reaping had happened.

 

“You remember on the elevator down, when you told me you didn’t know what angle you were going to play in the interviews?”

 

 She turns to Cato, who’s got a hard look on his face. He reaches out and grabs her hands, which are covered in bruises and scars from both this battle and the ones that she lived before. 

 

 “I think we just found it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a long time to write but finally got to a point where everything will flow into each other. The next scenes that's coming up in the Interview is originally what made me want to write this along with the very first chapter. I always wondered what would happen if a tribute for district one or two got called for the sole purpose of punishing the tribute. I mean, it was bound to happen that a tribute got sent up there and no one volunteered because they were not liked.
> 
> Anyways let me know what ya'll think??


	12. May The Odds Be In Your Favor

 

The dress is gorgeous. Eros  outdid themselves and it shows because she outshines anyone in the room with her, much to the chagrin of Lace who’s refused to even look at her since she had arrived. 

 

They’re seconds away from going live and she can hear the audience roaring away as Caesar Flickerman hypes them up. The screen they have backstage shows her his outfit and she tilts her head. He’s got an utterly drab outfit on, by Capitol standards at least. It’s a suit that every so often emits flames and he looks more than a little tired, deep black hair highlighting the paleness of his skin. Altheia wonders if anyone even notices, or if his charming smile erases everyone’s suspicious. 

 

Midas leans back, avoiding Thesues who’s muttering under his breath words of encouragement. It’s a little disconcerting for her, seeing how nervous he is. She thought of all the people here he’d look at ease, ready to perform but so far only Lace seems prepared for the interview.

 

“So, ten bucks someone gets asked about romance?”

 

She rolls her eyes. “You don’t even have any money.”

 

Midas smirks. “When I win, I’ll be sure to bury you with it.”

 

It’s a little dark for him to joke like that but they’re steadily getting closer and closer to the main event and there’s no point in pretending it won’t happen. It’s weird knowing she’s standing in line with people who will be dead or dying starting tomorrow. 

 

Chills run down her spine and she shoves Midas away from her. “More like you’ll die and I’ll have to speak to your kin about the money you owe me.”

 

Midas opens his mouth to protest but the show is starting and they all snap to look at the screen. Lace smooths out her dress and fluffs her hair. 

 

“Now, for District One’s beauty Lace Winslow!”

 

She struts out on stage, smiling like its a beauty pageant. It takes two questions for Altheia to realize she’s playing the same flirty seductress most girls from District One portray and she sighs. Lace was beautiful no doubt, but there was a lot more to her than looks and it was a shame they hadn’t coached her for a different angle. 

 

Midas mimes gagging as she steps off, going to sit at the chairs in the background, graceful as always. The camera lingers for a moment before it returns to Caesar. 

 

“Good luck.” She whispers to Midas seconds before he’s called to the stage.

 

He, of course, is a natural. Midas is too funny for his own good. She can barely stop herself from bursting out several times as she shakes her head at his antics. 

 

“Now Ceaser, I have a question for you.”

 

“A question for me?” Caesar leans back, eyebrows raising as he eyes the audience like he’s asking them for help.

 

“Just how long have you been doing this?”

 

Caesar fans himself, laughing nervously. “Wait a minute here! Aren’t I supposed to be interviewing you?”

 

Midas rubs his chin thoughtfully for a moment. “Well yes but actually, I thought it’d be fun to switch it up. So, how do you go about becoming Master of Ceremonies?”   
  


Caesar laughs boisterously as the buzzer sounds. “Hey now, I need this job!”

 

Midas hoots and turns to the crowd bowing goofily. He winks flirtatiously as he catches a rose and kisses it thankfully. The crowd eats it up as he hands it to Caesar who looks like he’s in stitches as he laughs.

 

Altheia smiles as Caesar talks the crowd down from Midas jokes before announcing her. She fixes her gown, nervous as she recalls the pep talk Eros had given her.

 

“I’m a Goddess.”

 

She lifts her head regally and walks on stage. 

 

The lights block out the audience for a moment and she resist the urge to shield her eyes. The action would humanize her and it would be a shame to ruin Eros and her team’s hard work by doing such a thing.

 

She catches sight of herself on a screen and marvels at the way the gown’s cape flutters behind her echoes the wings from the Tribute Parade. Even the dress itself continues to lend itself to the theme, trailing behind her like rolling fog. She looks like she’s coming straight out of a stormy night, hair floating around her face in a delicate messy bob.

 

“My, my, my. You look absolutely divine.” Ceaser gets up and offers his hand, bowing his head to her.

She eyes him for a moment before allowing herself to look at least somewhat pleased with the comment. “Eros did adequately.”

 

She meets their eyes in the crowd. They huff and shrug as the cameras focus on them. “Goddesses.” He mouths as if to excuse her subpar compliment. “Never satisfied.”

 

“I would say more than adequate!” He spins her and she complies, letting the fabric swoosh out and create a tornado effect. The crowd eats it up and it takes several moments after they sit for him to get the chance to launch into his questions.

 

“So Altheia, how did you feel when you heard your name. It was a very powerful moment, if we can recall folks?” 

 

The crowd cheers. 

 

Altheia sighs. “Annoyed.”

 

Caesar raises an eyebrow. “How so?”

 

“I was planning on volunteering and well, I got reaped so no chance of that then was there?”

 

He nods. “Wow, must have been disappointing! And what made you want to volunteer?”

 

“It’s the greatest honor Caesar. Victor of the Quarter Quell? I wanted it, the second I realized I would still be in the pool when it occurred.”

 

“How old were you when you realized this, as you say?”Caesar leans back, hands coming up to rest palms together.

 

Altheia hums, thinking back to the first time she really started to succeed in her lessons. Shortly after Phaedra had claimed her, but before the abuse really started. Her best year at the Academy really. “Thirteen? A year after I joined the Academy back home.”

 

Everything was planned carefully, aimed at fabricating a story that not only would reveal her crime but also very clearly frame it so that it seemed she had gotten rid of Phaedra so that she could be part of the Games this year. If she won, she’d be above scrutiny back home and hopefully be welcomed back without much hassle. At least, that’s what they were banking on.

 

“Any interests back home?”

 

She rolls her eyes. “No one worth my attention. Everyone’s just in the way.”

 

Caesar chuckles, shaking his head at her. “Of course, everyone’s below your standards.”

She nods but unwillingly her eyes are dragged to her mentor and she curses inwardly as the cameras catch it. Quickly she turns her eyes away from him and instead makes it appear like she’s snubbing him as well. 

 

“Your mentor?”   
  


“Certainly handsome enough but I find that he’s quite lacking in the brain region. Can’t make heads or tails of what I require.” She flicks her hair to the side. “I prefer those under me to be much more...malleable to my needs.”

 

The camera focuses on him as he rolls his eyes and she smirks as Caesar comments on their relationship. “I volunteer as tribute!” He jests. “I’ll do whatever you tell me to!”

 

She tuts and reaches out to pat his chest. “Ceaser don’t be volunteering for something you might not come out alive from.”  

 

He mimes fanning himself and pulls his collar away from his neck before he sobers suddenly, jumping into the next question. “ We’re running out of time here folks” -groans from the crowd- “Now now, not my fault! Altheia just what sets you apart from all the other tributes?”

 

“Well that’s simple really.” She leans forward, peeking out at the audience for a quick second. Eyes finding Cato among all the other mentors. He motions for her to go on discreetly and she takes comfort in the confidence in his gaze.

 

 Her eyes flicker back to Caesar, knowing that if she timed it just right the interviews time would be up seconds after her statement. She drags her hand up his arm and tilts his chin up to meet her eyes, her other hand presses the button inside her sleeve and a crack of lightning shoots out of her back as her hair starts to float. 

 

“I’ve already killed someone.”

 

.

.

.

.

 

The buzzer hits, loud and jarring in the sudden silence and it takes a moment for Caesar to collect himself. It’s apparent he’s receiving instructions as he grabs on to his earpiece but rules are rules so he gives her an excited grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. \

 

“Wow, truly frightening! The Goddess of Victory everybody, Altheia!” 

 

She takes his hand and glares down at the audience before turning and gliding up the steps to sit in the little throne next to Midas. 

 

“Holy smokes Altheia-”

 

She holds up a hand, urging him to wait as the cameras are still struggling to pull back to Caesar. From the corner of her eye she spots a Peacekeeper. The sight of the uniform causes her stomach to tighten from nerves and she shifts uncomfortably. 

 

“-Theseus Gemini!”

 

She tilts her head back, exhaling shakily as the cameras blow up Theseus’ image who is positively boiling. There is no hiding the anger that holds him.

 

“Altheia-”

 

She turns, lips pulling back in a snarl and Midas falters. His warm expression falling as he searches her face. 

 

“Theseus, I, we, want to know if what your partner revealed was known to you?”

 

Thesues clenches his teeth and cracks his neck as he turns his head. “She’s not my partner Ceaser. And yes, I did know. This just happens to be the first time she’s admitted it aloud.” A deep shuddering breath. 

 

“So you deducted , very intelligent!”

 

“It didn’t take a genius. She seeps guilt. Everyone back home had her pegged for a killer.” He sneers.

 

Her grip tightens on the arm rests, knuckles steadily growing whiter as she watches her strategy crumble around her. 

 

“We’re all itching to know-”

 

“It doesn’t matter who she killed because she’s going to die by my hand Ceaser. She’s not coming out alive the only thing she’s the goddess of is failure.” Theseus stands, marching away before the interview is even officially over. 

 

Caesar stands, calling his name but Thesues is stalking up the steps towards her too quick to be stopped. Altheia meets him on the steps, too wary to let him come to her while she’s seated. Theseus' eyes are so dark with hate they’re the color of a storm cloud, the blue nearly erased by dark grey. She swallows down the nausea at the sight, too much of a reminder of his sister in that moment. 

 

“I’m going to kill you. What you did doesn’t matter. It doesn't make a difference, a Gemini will still win. ”

 

She tilts her head up to meet his eyes, shaking her head. “You’re wrong. What I did makes all the difference. I already killed one, what’s one more?”

 

He lunges suddenly and before he can slam into her he’s being dragged away by none other than Midas. Lace hovers just behind her partner, the loyalty to her district overruling the dislike she has for Altheia. Theseus whirls around, shoving Midas who holds his hands out in surrender. 

 

“Save it for the Games.” He calls out.

 

Thesues glares but nods as he brushes down his suit. The Peacekeeper has emerged and gestures for them to sit. Altheia waits until Thesues to settle down before she joins them. The Peacekeeper squeezes between their chairs, choosing wisely to remain between them just out of the spotlight. 

 

Theseus leans over. “As soon as I get my shot. You’re going down. I won’t even need a weapon.”

 

She doesn’t even spare him a glance. 

 

The rest of the interviews go on without a hitch but a camera remains on her and Theseus for the rest of them, ready to capture them in case another fight breaks out. Unfortunately for the audience the Peacekeeper was enough of a deterrent to rein in any other flares of temper. 

 

Cato is waiting at the wings of the stage when the show ends and she tries to hide her anxiety at his dark look. Any effort to strike up a conversation on the elevator is crushed and he ignores her questions until he’s dragged her up the roof. 

 

“Cato stop! Stop.” 

 

He’s practically maniac as he drags a hand through his hair. “I miscalculated. Altheia I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”

 

She sticks up a hand, horror dawning as her heart drops. “What do you mean-”

 

He shuts down then, shoves all the emotion away somewhere deep inside himself. “I...I thought it would give you an edge, admitting that but something’s changed. I had an inside source, remember I told you when you did the simulation?”

 

She nods. Blood is rushing through her ears and she blinks to shove away the increasing tunnel vision she’s getting. 

 

“Well, the Gamemakers...it seems we have inspired them to...to change the odds of everyone.”

 

Mouth dry she shakily grabs for the railing. “What does that mean?” She wants him to spit it out already, to not drag out the suspense. 

 

“There’s talk of there not being a Cornucopia this year.”

 

No Cornucopia?

 

“But there’s one every year!” She cries out. 

 

So far the plan had always been to grab supplies and get the hell out of there. She’s the fastest of all the Careers, she’d be long gone before Theseus even got to a weapon of any sort. 

 

Cato’s lips thin as he watches her panic. “If I had known-”

 

“No! Don’t. It needed to come out, on my terms.” She says as her throat constricts. Better she reveal it than Theseus, or worse, it come out when they did the home interviews as they got closer to the end. She shakes her head. “It was better like this.”

 

Cato eyes her for a long moment before he nods. 

 

“Is there...is there anything else?”

 

“The mutts this year will be worse than ever before.”

 

Altheia thinks back to the wolves. How he must hate the ones that roam the mountains of Two, how their howls must remind him of when he almost died. She can’t think of anything worse than those wolves. The only thing she’d ever been afraid of in her life was Phaedra and disappointing her father. And it wasn’t like the Capitol could remake either of them for these Games.

 

“I say, bring it on.” She smiles weakly at him.

 

Cato does not return it.

 

….

There are two small pills and a glass of water beside her bed when she returns to her room. 

 

_ To help you sleep, _

 

_ T. _

 

Theophania. 

 

She grabs them and after a short inspection (it would be just too funny if Theseus managed to poison her the night before the Games) swallows them down with a mouthful of water. Her head barely touches the pillow before sleep steals her.

 

She dreams she’s at the center of a mountain. That the mountain is like a womb and that she is a pile of molten heat, growing and expanding until eventually, one day, she will raze the surrounding structures to ash. It’s a pleasant dream, warm and encouraging and so when she wakes, hours later, she is ready. 

 

* * *

 

Everyone on the aircraft over to the stadium already looks dead. Deep dark circles, frightening eyes, sweaty pale skin. It’s a ship full of children too aware that many of them will not live beyond the next hour. 

 

Altheia watches them with a cool detachedness that comes from being raised at the Academy. Still, she had started so late that not all of their teachings had sunk roots and pity takes hold. None of the kids from the outlying districts have much of a chance and she’s glad she refused to learn any of their names. Let them be identity less numbers, it’s easier on the conscience. 

 

The others seem to agree because already Midas has referred to her twice as Two rather than her name and she lets it happen, lets it form a canyon between them. Even now she knows that the only reason he chooses to sit next to her is because of their tentative secret alliance. 

 

“Are you nervous?”

 

She flicks her eyes away from the girl across from her. Six looks seconds away from throwing up and all the while Altheia had been preparing herself for the onslaught of it. Motion Sickness was apparently quite pervasive because even Lace on the other side of Midas looked a little green.

 

“No.” Altheia says because honestly, it had dissipated sometime between last night and this morning. The dream stuck to her, as they seem to do, keeping a steady source of comfort brewing inside her. She reached up and touched her heart, wondering if it was obvious to anyone else. Her mother would have said she had been visited by a goddess, hell-bent on making sure she remained clear-minded and ready for the battle to come. 

 

“Well that makes one of us.” He groans, slumping back and wiping his beaded forehead. “You’re not even sweating.” He muttered. 

 

“I don’t know what to tell you.”

 

“Tell me your secret.” He snaps when hey swerve suddenly and he yelps out a curse as everyone’s stomachs drop suddenly.

 

She reaches out and pats him serenely as they are unbuckled in order from Twelve to One. Several of them fail to stand on their own and have to be guided out. 

 

“Look at them,” sneers Lace. “Cowards.”

 

Altheia doesn’t say anything about Lace’s shaking hands, choosing to remain silent until she’s unharnessed. The assistant is wary with her, probably having heard of her melt down with the simulation. Altheia moves with slow careful steps, unwilling to let Lace or Theseus see her shake. 

 

Midas reaches out and taps her wrist and she turns her head, raising a brow. Midas says nothing, just nods at her.

 

Good. The alliance was still in place. 

 

She leaves the craft in good spirits, so good that the assistant makes a joke that falls a little flat. She rolls her eyes and swings the door to her room unprompted. Eros is waiting for her and it almost makes up for the fact that Cato had been missing when she awoke. 

 

“Hello my lovely.” They coo as they spot her. “I see someone has rested!”

 

They snatch her into a hug and hold her for a long moment. When they step away they lightly rub her arms, tilting their head. “You...you are ready?”

 

She nods. 

 

“Perfect, here’s some breakfast. Focus on protein.” 

 

She carefully selects a strip of bacon and nibbles on it delicately, unwilling to test the strength of her stomach. 

 

“Eros do you have any advice for me?” She asks as she watches them putter around the room.

Eros pauses, brush in their hand. “Don’t worry about your morals in there. Don’t hesitate to kill someone because they are unarmed. Before I was with Two I was the stylist for District Eight and…,” tears rise up in their eyes as they turn to stare into hers. “Altheia all of them hesitated, and so they all died. You can deal with guilt when you win, if you let it consume you while still playing you’re as good as dead.”

 

Not expecting such serious advice she falters. Eros wasn’t generally substantial with their responses and more than once she had heard another stylist refer to them as shallow. And yet, that was the most sound advice she had heard, ever, maybe. 

 

“Say it Altheia. Say that you won’t let it stop you.”

 

She swallows before nodding. “I won’t let it stop me. I’ll win.”

 

Eros nods and it’s like a switch has been flipped because suddenly they’re jumping into getting her ready, rapidly braiding her hair into an intricate ponytail. “It will keep it out of your face while still looking fierce.” They wink at her. “And here, the uniform.”

 

She grabs it and rubs her fingers against it. The material is thick, but light enough that in hot weather it won’t be sweltering. More for skin protection rather than a way to fight the cold. She raises an eyebrow at Eros as she jumps off the stool to dress. 

 

“I heard that snags are going to be a big problem.”

 

“Tributes, please enter the transport.”

 

She looks up, finding a small speaker in the corner of the room. She quickly finishes sliding on the top, flexing. The shirt had as much give as the pants, meant for quick movements. Her boots were sturdy too and Eros quickly helped her lace them up before shoving her lightly towards the strange tube. 

 

“Altheia.”

 

She turns , hands pressing against the glass. 

 

“Come back.” 

 

She begins to rise. 

 

“Don’t make me find a new muse!”

 

Then Eros is gone and it’s a long dark tunnel. She can see the light at the top and she forces herself to stare directly at it to adjust her eyes. When she emerges she scans the pedestals next to her, relieved to find the girl from Six and the boy from Twelve next to her. Neither of them look too pleased to see her and she seems them shift nervously. They are arranged in a circle in an empty field that goes on for miles it seems. 

 

There is no Cornucopia. 

 

Thirty seconds. 

 

Cries of alarm rise up and she hears Theseus curse angrily across from her. He finds her, hand rising to point at her as he laughs. 

 

“I said no weapons, bitch! You’re dying first!”

 

Altheia opens her mouth to reply but then the voice of Seneca Crane filled the Arena.

 

“The President said that we, the Capitol, would decide the odds of every single one of you and we have chosen!”

 

Beeping fills the air and we all glance up to find two dozen parachutes floating down. Hands reach out to grasp and Altheia nearly drops it at the heavy weight of hers. It’s a backpack, she realizes. 

 

She laughs and shouts her thanks as she turns it, finding a built in scabbard for two swords. She hears a panicked moan next to her and her head snaps to look finding that the girl from Six is currently holding two twin swords that look like they would fit perfectly in her bag. 

 

Eros words echo to her as Seneca Crane cheers.    
  


“May the odds be ever in your favor!” 

 

The timer stops. 

 

“Happy Hunger Games!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So excited to start writing all the best parts and hopefully she can follow Eros’ advice! Do you guys think she’ll kill Six or just take the weapons and run? What do you think Theseus got as his gift?


	13. A Miracle

  
  


Cato is going to have a heart attack.

 

“Where’s the damn Cornucopia?” Haymitch scowls, leaning forward, eyes glaring into the screens in front of them.

 

Finnick lets out a breath. “I thought she was joking. I didn’t realize-”

 

So Finnick had already known? Interesting. 

 

It doesn’t matter that he’s only nineteen or that his family doesn't have any preexisting conditions.

 

Enobaria snorts as she zooms in on Theseus, on his personal screen. “That’s fucking gold.”

 

On Altheia’s screen, he can see her smiling. See the way she locks onto Six. Six’s mentor sighs and gets up to pour themselves a drink.

 

“If your tribute kills mine this year, you’re paying for a year’s worth of drinks.” 

 

“Buy it yourself, you stupid drunk.” He snaps at Haymitch before hunkering down, his glass untouched in front of him. 

 

_ “Hm, sure hope she doesn’t wuss out. She needs those.” _

 

He rolls his eyes.  He’s ignoring her as she perches on the empty armchair but he can’t lie and say she’s not voicing his concerns. 

 

“Come on, Altheia.” He whispers, lips barely moving. 

 

The timer stops.

 

He’s definitely going to have a heart attack.

 

“Happy Hunger Games!”

 

Six launches herself out of her podium, already running. Altheia tosses the bag, hitting Six hard enough to cause the girl to stagger. Altheia is quick to follow, body catching Six’s knees. They both tumble to the ground.

 

There are people dying all over the screen. Haymitch curses next to him and takes a shot. Twelve’s female screen goes dark, replaced by a still of her. Her cannon will come later, after. 

  
Clove makes a snapping remark. 

 

Finnick leans over and slaps a hand on Haymitch’s shoulder. “You’ve still got the boy.”   
  


The boy. The boy which is hovering over Altheia as she wrestles with Six. 

 

“Give it up already!” She shouts, eyes glaring down at the girl.

 

“No! You’ll kill me!” Six claws at the ground, dragging grass and dirt underneath her. 

 

“You’re going to die anyway.” Altheia declares as she wraps her hand around Six’s neck, squeezing tightly as the other reaches for the handles of the swords. 

 

Cato glances at Theseus’ camera, seeing him stalk his way across the mess of fighting tributes towards Altheia. She needs to get up. Now. Fuck the swords. 

 

“Come on.” His nails dig into the couch underneath him, fabric ripping under the force of it. 

 

Twelve hesitates, moving forward. There’s a knife in his hand and he clenches it tightly, shaking. 

 

Altheia’s back is turned.

 

Clove tuts disapprovingly. 

 

Then, someone lands to the ground too close to them and they all jump. Twelve drops the knife and Altheia turns, a savage expression in her face.

 

Cato is sure when he was at the Bloodbath it hadn't made him nearly as anxious as he is now. No, back then it had been almost fun, a game even. 

 

_"I bet I can take down more people than you."_

 

_He smirked. "We'll see, One. We'll see."_

 

He shakes his head.  Twelve is still debating. 

 

Haymitch sighs. 

 

“He won’t do it. You can relax Two.”

 

But Cato can't. Not until he sees it happen.

 

He hesitates as Six begs him for help. Twelve's eyes dart around, body caught between running away and fighting. The Games already changed him. Twelve snatches his knife and turns around. 

 

“Make it fast, Two.” He mutters before taking off.

 

Six starts screaming his name, yelling about alliances and promises.

 

Finnick inhales deeply, flinching.

 

He sees the hesitation in Altheia’s eyes. 

 

He closes his eyes, stomach turning. He wants to watch, to be there with her but he’s shaking and losing his grip on reality. Clove is changing, flickering and every so often blood appears.There are shadows growing in the corners of the room. His hands feel slick and he knows when he opens them he will see blood. 

 

Haymitch asks him something. 

 

He hears Six’s screams cut off and his eyes fly open just in time to watch the blow connect with Altheia’s head. 

 

“Funny, I was going to say that about you.” Theseus smirks as he advances having tossed away the Med-kit, kicking aside Six who scrambles up, snatching Altheia’s bag and swords as goes. 

 

“Fuck.” He gets up stealing Haymitch’s glass and smashing it against the wall. “Fuck!”

  
  


“Wai-Hey! Not my drink! Not my drink!”

 

The Victors eye him but many of them tune him out. He hears the woman from eight mutter something about it being his first year here but he’s too busy staring at the screen feeling helpless to reply. 

 

Thesues yanks back Altheia, laughing.

 

He sees the panic in her eyes, sees the way she’s struggling to remain in the moment and not in one of the memories she keeps so close to her.

 

“Aw come here, maybe I have something in my Medkit that can help.” He coos as he caresses Altheia who’s head lolls to the side, eyes rapidly blinking. She’s completely dazed. 

 

Cato can’t sit here and watch this happen. 

 

He’s up and marching out of the room. Enobaria calls out to him but all he can think about is Altheia. He promised her she’d make it out, make it home. That was the whole point of revealing her secret.

 

_ “And just what do you think you’re doing?” Clove snaps. “Not planning on watching her die after all? You gonna let her die alone?” _

 

Teeth clenching so tight he swears he hears them crack he breaks out into the lobby, doors banging. There’s a flurry of people flying up to greet him but he shoves right past them to the person he’s looking for. He ignores the man hovering and bends down to be at eye level with the only person in the room who can make this happen. 

 

“Aquarius, she’s in danger.”

 

The girl tilts her head, eyes far too intelligent for someone her age. In her arms is a doll with black hair and wings. “How much?”

 

Cato grins. 

  
  


* * *

 

 

 

 

There are two of him.

 

The figures blend and swirl in front of Altheia’s eyes. 

 

Shaking, she brings a hand up to touch the wound at the back of her head. Blood. So much. Hers. Her blood. 

 

Theseus is monologue-ing. He keeps talking and talking. All of it echoes, without sticking in her head and she angles her head back catching sight of a figure barreling towards them. They boy from Seven. The lumberjack. 

 

She smirks. “I think I’ll take a rain check on all this.”

 

Theseus stops mid-sentence, confusion blooming before his eyes before he looks up, suddenly catching on. 

 

She barely has time to enjoy the shock before she’s slammed into. Another blow hits her chest and she cries out, trying her best to roll away from Theseus who -despite the fact that Seven seems completely set on the idea of killing him through sheer fist power alone- is still gripping onto her.

 

She grunts as another blow catches her. Seven isn’t being too careful either. This wasn’t a rescue. No, more of an attack where it doesn’t matter if she lives or dies. 

 

Well she’s not dying here. 

 

She takes a page out of Enobaria’s book. She lets out a battle cry. Teeth tear into Theseus. He holds on, until she bites through his skin. Blood fills her mouth and she fights through the memory threatening to resurface. 

 

She’s  **not** dying here. 

 

 Something glints in the light and she twists, Seven’s brass knuckles just barely missing. Satisfaction fills her as she feels the grip slacken. She drives her elbow into Theseus’ guts. 

 

She’s free. 

 

She jumps onto her feet, shoving away everything but the adrenaline keeping her alive. Eyes searching the surroundings, in the distance she can just barely spot Six, the glowing number emblazoned on her back like a beacon.

 

She takes off.

 

She’s not ten feet away when she hears a grunt.

 

“Get back here! Altheia!”

 

Her feet slip as she trips, barely missing a spear he must have snatched. Breath labored she starts zig zagging, making sure to keep an irregular rhythm in case he gets another weapon to toss at her. 

 

From the corner of her eye she spots Lace. The blonde is drenched in blood and as she yanks out her axe more sprays forward. They meet gazes for a moment and Lace smirks.

 

Then Lace is chasing her too.    
  


Shit.Shit.Shit.Shit.

 

She needs better odds. 

 

The ax thunks to the ground next to her.

 

Now.

 

She leaps over a body, stumbling. She can’t run forever. 

 

Midas. 

 

No. Too early for him. Too early in the game, he won’t risk killing Lace and coming home alienated. 

 

Six is too far ahead. The girl wouldn’t stop running until cover appeared and so far, it was an endless field of perfectly manicured grass. 

 

She makes her decision. 

 

Sliding across the grass, hands grasping onto the handle of the ax. She turns, gasping. She wasn’t made for long-distance running. Even now, her lungs burn and she’s panting as Theseus and Lace get closer and closer. 

 

She needs a fucking miracle. 

 

She’s never handled an ax before. 

 

They are mere steps away when the ground rumbles and they all pause. Then, with a great explosion the ground lurches up, blades of grass and roots flying up in a rush of tangles. 

 

Thrown off by the force she collapses on her ass, eyes wide. The wall grows taller and taller, roots pulling at each other, quickly closing the gaps. Theseus rushes forward, his face twisted into a snarl before he disappears, blocked off.

 

She hears his snarl, hears as he curses, but all she can see is him, seconds away from touching her. 

 

“A miracle.” She whispers, reaching out. 

 

Strangely enough a flower emerges and she eyes it critically before yanking her head back. The Game makers are not to be trusted. This wall could kill her later for all she knows. 

 

She stands, on shaking legs and carefully begins to walk.

 

“Altheia! You listen to this bitch! I swear I’m going to kill you. No one else! I’m going to!” Theseus screeches.

 

She doesn’t even look back. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The underlined parts were done to differentiate what was happening in the Games vs. what was happening with Cato. Hope it wasn't too annoying to read. We're finally jumping into the action! Hopefully next chapter Altheia can stumble onto something else, maybe food, shelter?  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> Six?
> 
> Let me know what you'd like to see next!


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